


To Warm The Winter's Cold

by Chichirinoda, Miko



Series: The Difference Between [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Implied/Referenced Torture, Jealousy, M/M, Memory Loss, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Past Brainwashing, Rimming, Temperature Play, Timeline Shenanigans, World War II, relationship angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-05-14 22:50:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 50,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14778783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chichirinoda/pseuds/Chichirinoda, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miko/pseuds/Miko
Summary: It was inevitable that the Legends would go back to World War II sooner or later, but James had devoutly hoped he would not have to encounter Steve Rogers and the Howling Commandos - especially not his younger self, Bucky Barnes. Of course, nothing ever goes the way the crew of the Waverider want it to.Changing his past would be so easy. All James would have to do was find a way to stop Bucky from going on the fateful mission that led to him becoming the Winter Soldier. He could avoid seventy years of torture, and all the horrible things that HYDRA had forced him to do.But it would mean never becoming a Rogue. Never meeting Leonard Snart. Is the cost worth the benefit?Then Bucky is captured by HYDRA, along with Len. James has to face the darkness of his past head-on if he wants to rescue his lover and his younger self. Worse, it looks like making a choice about whether or not to change history may have become a moot point...





	1. Chapter 1

_June suns, you cannot store them  
To warm the winter’s cold - A.E. Housman_

The discussion - argument, more like - droned on around James. Sometimes it seemed like this was his entire life, now. Hunter argued with Lance argued with Palmer argued with Stein argued with... it went on and on and _on_ , over every mission. 

This was what happened when you tried to run a team on a democratic basis. Never mind that Hunter hadn’t intended that to be the case when he recruited them. Their captain had deliberately chosen people known for flaunting the rules and thinking outside the box. He’d gotten what he asked for, and the headaches that went with it.

And over in their corner of the Waverider bridge, the three Rogues all watching, listening, in their own ways.

Well, Len was watching and listening, and occasionally interjecting a pithy comment to cut someone's ego down to size. Mick Rory was munching on a bag of chips, more interested in staring at Sara's ass then paying attention.

And James... ordinarily James kept quiet, but was paying close attention, and he'd speak up if he thought their ragtag team was planning something especially stupid. Today, he couldn't focus on anything but the forest outside the windows.

The trees were nothing special. It was a typical European forest, he'd seen a hundred just like it. What interested him was out there _in_ the trees, somewhere not so very far away.

The Howling Commandos. Captain America. And most importantly, a younger and painfully innocent version of himself. Bucky Barnes.

It was the tail end of 1943. In less than a month, that charming young soldier would fall to his 'death', and from his ashes the Winter Soldier would arise. It was hard for James to think about anything else.

Especially since the team was going in endless, unproductive circles. They knew Vandal Savage was here somewhere. Gideon had dug up a reference to him working with the Red Skull during the war in an uneasy but mutually profitable alliance. But 'here' covered a lot of territory, and they needed better intel to figure out an exact location.

The Allied Forces might have information about Savage’s whereabouts. They had to be tracking him. That much, the team agreed on. Palmer wanted to play dressup, go in as a high-ranking officer and demand the information. Lance wanted to sneak in at night and steal it. There were half a dozen other ideas floating around, all of them bad. Quite a few were likely to get them shot.

Palmer might be on to something, though. At least, if you turned your head and looked at the idea sideways. Marching in, claiming to be an officer nobody in camp had ever seen, would earn him a swift visit from some angry MPs.

Marching in and claiming to be a soldier _everyone_ in camp had seen was another matter.

It was the only reliable way they were gonna get that intel. James knew it. Captain Hunter knew it too, the bastard. He kept casting sidelong looks at James with a raised eyebrow, as if to say, 'what are you waiting for?'. James supposed he ought to be grateful Hunter hadn't brought it up himself.

Finally he couldn't take it anymore. Without a sound, James rose to his feet and skirted around the edge of the bridge, heading for the door. Hunter gave him a brief nod, as if giving him permission to leave. As if James gave a shit about his permission. 

Len was the only other person who noticed him going, and his lover gave James a concerned look. They'd been together long enough now that James could interpret just fine without words. Len was checking if James needed or wanted company, assuming that James was leaving because being in this time period bothered him too much.

With a shake of his head, James told Len to stay put, and slipped out the door. Only when it slid closed behind him, sealing him into the interior hallway of the ship and away from the windows, did it feel like he could take a full breath again.

So much weight of history, out there. So much potential for change. All he needed to do would be to break his younger self's arm so he couldn't go on the mission in the Alps, and James could save himself from seventy fucking years of torture. Hell, the timeline probably wouldn't even be altered much. Some other poor bastard POW would be HYDRA's favourite test subject, and become the Winter Soldier. 

Even knowing it was wrong, even knowing how much he would lose if he did it, James was so damned tempted.

In a half-conscious motion he flexed his metal hand in and out of a fist a few times. It had become a nervous tic, and a thinking gesture. Len loved to tease him about it. James ribbed him right back about Len playing with his ring. 

And that, right there, was the argument for why James shouldn't rescue himself. If he did, he would never meet the Rogues. Leonard Snart was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

But the words _'Is it really worth it?'_ kept ringing in his head.

"Gideon. You there?"

"Certainly. I'm capable of splitting my attention to several areas of the ship at once, if necessary. What can I do for you, Sergeant?" 

Gideon and Hunter both delighted in calling him by a rank he hadn't deserved in decades. The computer, at least, was only following her programming and her captain's example. James was pretty sure Hunter did it to get under his skin. Maybe also to remind him of the hero he'd once been, the reason Hunter had recruited him for this insane mission to kill an immortal tyrant.

But mostly to get under his skin. It worked, too. On both counts.

Asshole.

"I assume you've got records of me from this time period?" To say he didn’t want to do this couldn’t begin to cover the depth of his aversion. James _really fucking did not want_ to do this. But it needed to be done, and he was the only one who could. "Can you synthesize my uniform?"

"Of course." Computers should not be able to sound smug, but Gideon frequently managed it. "Shall I engage the barbering unit as well?"

Having a machine, even one as precise as Gideon, come at his head with a blade was not an appealing prospect. Unfortunately, shoulder-length hair was not gonna cut it for this mission.

Christ. Len and his fucking puns were rubbing off on him.

Less than ten minutes later he made his way back down the hall to the bridge. Everything seemed distinctly surreal. There was no sense of movement when he turned his head, no hair hanging into his face. His cheeks felt raw from the close shave, and every time air hit the back of his neck he had to fight the urge to shiver. A dirt-smudged bandage with convincing-looking spots of ‘blood’ hid his left hand, since gloves weren’t part of his uniform and might draw notice.

The uniform was both alien and painfully familiar. Gideon had made it look appropriately weathered and broken down. It even _smelled_ right - which was to say, like blood and gunpowder and harsh lye soap.

It felt like the ghost of Bucky Barnes was riding his shoulders. He had no right to wear this uniform, to be this man again. No right to wear the winged symbol of the Howling Commandos. Not after everything the Winter Soldier had done.

As the door slid open, he found himself walking right back into the middle of the same circular argument as before. Lance was giving Palmer a particularly disdainful look as she spoke. "...suggesting we should waltz up to the Allied forces and ask them very nicely to hand over their highly classified documents?"

Well, there'd never been a better cue for an entrance. "That's exactly what we're gonna do," James declared.

All eyes turned to him. Quite a few of them did a comical double-take. Len was staring - they were all staring, but Len's gaze held a note of sadness and sympathy that the others were distinctly lacking.

Len, alone out of all of them, knew how much this transformation cost James.

Stein seemed particularly surprised, mouth gaping open until he snapped it shut. "But, my boy, you're the spitting image of Bucky Barnes!"

James gave him a flat look, nonplussed. "Seriously? _You're_ the Howling Commandos fanatic in this crew?" He'd expected it to be Palmer, if anyone. 

"Howling Commandos?" Jackson sounded confused.

"Do they not teach history in school anymore?" Stein gave a heavy sigh. "The Howling Commandos were an elite unit in the Second World War, under the command of Captain Steve Rogers."

"Captain America," Palmer put in eagerly. "Right, I remember hearing about those guys. Kinda the first version of the Avengers. Gideon, bring up an image of Bucky Barnes?"

Obligingly, a holograph of Bucky and Steve appeared before them. It wasn't a photograph James recognized, and the memory of when it might have been taken eluded him. They were in their field uniforms, relaxed and smiling, at the 107th base camp. Probably a still from one of the many film reels that had been shot about the Commandos for morale-boosting movie clips to show back home.

"Remarkable." Stein peered first at the image, then at James. "The resemblance is uncanny. Are you a relative?"

"Something like that." James _really_ didn't want them going down that particular line of inquiry, so he changed the subject. "As Barnes I should be able to get the info we need. No way the 107th wasn't tracking Savage, if he was rumoured to be involved with the Skull." 

They'd never been sent on any sorties against Savage that he recalled, but the brass rarely passed on info they didn't think the grunts needed to know. Steve might have been aware, but chosen to concentrate their strategy against HYDRA unless Savage became an immediate threat.

Or hell, maybe they'd fought an entire pitched battle against the asshole and James didn't remember. There were still so many gaps in his memories, so many things he didn't know he was missing until he tripped over one of the holes.

"Might work," Lance said, thoughtful. "You'd have to be careful not to be seen in two places at once - or worse, run into the real Barnes."

He could see the way her eyes went distant, calculating the new possibilities for infiltration. She was good at that, for much the same reason he was. Ta-er Al-Sahfer had been a legend in her day, one of the most dangerous members of the League of Assassins. Quite possibly on par with the Winter Soldier. 

They'd both changed their stripes since then - or feathers, in the White Canary's case - but their deadly instincts remained. 

"So I go in while the Commandos are out," James suggested. "Claim we ran into one of Savage's groups in the field, and Rogers sent me back to get more intel. Gives me a reason to be in and out as quickly as possible."

"Oh, I am so in on this," Palmer said, excited in that way he got where anticipation overwhelmed his admittedly impressive intellect. Which was to say, the way he behaved most of the time. 

"Absolutely not." If James had to expose himself, dig deep into the most painful wound he'd ever suffered in his life, he was _not_ turning it into a spectator sport. "I'm going alone. More people just means more chances for somebody to realize we don't fit."

"Is it logical that Captain Rogers would send Sergeant Barnes back to base alone?" Hunter asked. "Through enemy territory, with no support to increase his chances of making it there and back?"

Damn it. The point was a reasonable one. Especially coming from Hunter, who was usually trying to _limit_ the damage his unruly team of misfits inevitably caused to history. "Fine," James ground out. "I'll take Len and Rory with me."

"And me," Palmer insisted. "I'm not missing out on a chance to walk around where Captain America lived."

"What about me?" Jackson put in. "You think there weren't black guys dying in the Army in WW2?"

"Yeah, and they were treated like shit, segregated into their own units and sent out as canon fodder." James shook his head. 

"Unfortunately, James is correct." Stein always said James' name like it tasted sour, annoyed that James refused to disclose his last name so the professor could be as formal as he preferred. "There were only a handful of black men serving in the 107th, all of them rescued from HYDRA by the good Captain and originally part of other units. The inclusion was unheard of, particularly that of Gabe Jones among the Commandos themselves."

"Rogers wouldn't let 'em cut out good soldiers for the colour of their skin." That much, James remembered. "Said if the brass wanted to beat HYDRA, they had to let him do it his way. But every man in camp knew those coloured guys, at least by sight. Jackson's out. Lance and Saunders are out. Stein's too old. Hunter's too foreign - there were Brits and Frenchies in the 107th, but again, everybody knew them."

He stared at Palmer, but try as he might, couldn't find a reason the man should be excluded. Palmer grinned back at him like a kid at Christmas, and James scowled. "We don't need him," was the best he could come up with. "Three's enough."

"Then Mick can stay, he's more likely to refuse to follow an order and screw us up, anyway," Palmer pointed out.

"Watch it, haircut," Rory grumbled. He stood, crumpling his bag of chips and tossing it aside, uncaring that there was no garbage to put it in. "If Snart and Jimmy are going, I'm in. I hate Nazis."

The one thing James and Rory agreed on, unconditionally. James didn't bother to mention that they weren't going to be fighting any Nazis in the camp. If Rory had decided he wanted to come, it would be a waste of breath to try to convince him otherwise.

"Four seems a reasonable number," Hunter declared, ending the argument. "As it happens, we've landed not far from the base camp of the 107th."

'As it happens'. Bullshit. James glared at the man, taking that as confirmation that this had been Hunter's plan all along. He wondered, if he hadn't volunteered, would Hunter have eventually outed him and ordered him to do it?

Probably. The asshole was utterly ruthless when it came to stopping Savage, and getting revenge for his dead family. James could respect that, even if he sometimes disagreed with Hunter's methods.

James would do the same if the Rogues had been killed by Savage, after all. The same, and far worse.

"Fine," he relented, not trying to hide his displeasure at Hunter pulling rank. "Get uniforms. You follow my orders - no questions, no arguments. Don't even _think_ about asking Gideon to make you anything higher than a private."

"He's looking at you, Raymond." Len smirked at their unwanted fourth.

"Actually, I was looking at you," James retorted, though he let his gaze soften slightly so Len would know he was teasing. "You'll always put yourself in charge if you can get away with it. I'm the ranking NCO. I'm the only one who knows what the fuck he's doing."

"Plus, anyone ranking higher than private within the 107th would, again, be known to all the other members," Stein agreed. He peered at James, brow furrowed. "There is one additional concern, however. Bucky Barnes was known as a rather charming young man. I presume your experience with the Army is also far more recent, and I imagine protocols have changed a great deal in seventy years. Are you certain you can pull this off? The members of the 107th would have known Sergeant Barnes very well."

"In and out," James repeated. "The Commandos won't be there, and they're the only ones who would spot me as a fake that fast. Anybody tries to stop me to chat, I tell them it's urgent and they'll leave me be. I can fake it that long."

He hoped. God, please let this not be a case where his memories were so spotty that he didn't realize there were important details he was missing. Worse, if he was _too_ good at passing, Palmer might realize there was more going on with James than met the eye.

This had the potential to be _such_ a fucking disaster.


	2. Chapter 2

At this point, Len was pretty much used to dressing in bizarre historical costumes and going tramping about through major moments in history. Hell, it wasn't even the first time he'd worn an Army uniform, though last time it had been the first World War, not the second.

What he wasn't used to was seeing Bucky Barnes walking beside him, instead of James. Or rather, some weird hybrid version of the two. 

He looked like Bucky on the outside. Slick-haired and clean-shaven, square-shouldered and square-jawed; the perfect poster boy for the American Army. His expression and body language, however, were pure James, sullen and withdrawn. More so than usual, in fact.

Not that Len could blame him. This couldn't be easy for his lover. The closer they got to the base camp for the 107th, the tighter James' muscles wound, until Len could see the strain in his shoulders even through the padding of his blue jacket.

James came to an abrupt halt, responding to some signal Len couldn't see or hear, and turned to face the rest of them. "All right, listen up," he growled. "Fastest damn boot camp lesson ever. Stay behind me, and don't try to walk in step, you'll just make it even more obvious that you can't do it. Don't talk to anyone. Don't salute anyone."

"Not even if they salute us?" Ray tilted his head in that infuriatingly twee way he had. "Isn't that going to give us away?"

"No, because you're marching with a higher rank in the unit, and that means I'm in charge, so I salute for all of us. And I _mean_ it about not talking to anyone. Keep your heads down and act like you're fucking exhausted and shellshocked, and people will leave you alone."

"Shellshocked?" Ray asked, then lit up in realization. "Oh! That’s the old term for post traumatic stress dis..."

"Shut it," James barked at him in a drill sergeant voice, and actually succeeded in startling the man enough that Ray shut his mouth. "You wanted to come on this mission so bad, that means you do what I tell you, when I tell you, and don't give me sass."

Ray hesitated, and for a moment Len thought the man might actually rub a couple of brain cells together and realize what a bad mood James was in. And that provoking an already irritated Winter Soldier might not be a good idea.

Instead, Ray proved yet again that he had less self-preservation instinct than a lemming. "You do remember the part where Bucky Barnes was charming and friendly, right? You're not doing a very good job."

James stared at him, with the flat, dead expression in his eyes that said he was in full on assassin mode. Sara got like that too, sometimes, and it was generally a sign that all hell was about to break loose. "Rory, if he opens his mouth again, you've got permission to punch his teeth in."

Cracking his knuckles, Mick grinned at Ray in a distinctly predatory manner. "Yes, sir."

A pained look crossed James' face, making the flat expression fade. "For god's sake, don't call me sir. I ain't an officer, I work for a living. Christ, this was a bad idea."

Len had a feeling that last comment was about more than the fact that their team was probably going to give themselves away in five seconds flat. That was _always_ the case, when they tried to be sneaky in the past. He reached out and put his hand on James' shoulder, drawing his lover's attention. "You don't have to do this, James. There's still time to come up with another plan."

"If there was any other goddamn plan, I wouldn't have suggested this one." James closed his eyes, drew a deep breath - and everything about him altered. In the space of a blink, James was gone, and a very different man stood before Len. His posture loosened, tension bleeding away into a casual ease. The lines of strain around his eyes and mouth disappeared, replaced by a cheeky grin. "Also, it's Bucky. Only my mom calls me James, and it always means I'm in trouble."

Len's heart squeezed, then sank in his chest like it had turned to stone. How much had that dive into his past self cost James? Len knew better than anyone how hard the man had struggled to define himself as somebody separate from his past - both as the Winter Soldier and as Bucky Barnes. That 'easy' cheerful manner would be painful in a way nobody could truly understand but James.

Ray was gaping, mouth open in shock. Even Mick looked surprised, all the more so when James then winked at him in response. Only for the briefest moment, when he met Len's gaze, did the agony of it show in James' eyes. 

"All right, fall in," James ordered, hefting his rifle on his shoulder and turning toward the camp. "Let's get this done, people."

They headed in, passing a few sentries who stood down when James gave a password to indicate they were friendlies. Within the camp itself, it seemed like everyone called out or raised a hand in greeting. James waved back and even said 'hi' a few times, but thankfully people seemed to recognize that they had a purpose and didn't have time to chat.

Rounding a corner, they came in sight of a much larger tent than anything Len had yet seen. The sides had been tied up, giving open sight lines, and people came and went from all directions like ants from a hive. James raised a hand to get an older man's attention. "Colonel Phillips! Just the man I wanted to see. Sir."

James came to a halt and saluted. Len half expected Ray to blow their cover then and there by doing the same, but apparently the geek had been paying at least some attention to James' lecture. Phillips' eyes flicked briefly over each of them in turn, before dismissing them as unimportant and returning his attention to James.

Phillips made a sketchy salute in return, and James dropped his hand. "Sergeant," the Colonel greeted them, his gravelly voice and deeply etched frown making the word sound like a scolding. "Aren't you supposed to be on the other side of Vienna by now?"

"Yes, sir. The rest of the Commandos still are, but Captain Rogers sent me back for intel." James tilted his head, all cocky self-assurance. "We encountered a rumour that HYDRA may be teaming up with a man calling himself Vandal Savage. Do we know anything about him?"

"Savage, eh? Name's vaguely familiar." Phillips scratched his cheek, thinking. "It was in one of the intelligence reports from the resistance spies. Carter's probably your best bet for anything concrete."

James' expression didn't slip, but Len saw the way his lover's shoulders went tight. "Is Agent Carter in camp?" he asked, and Phillips nodded. "All right, then. Thank you, sir."

"Dismissed, Sergeant." 

They both made hasty salutes again, Phillips already turning away to the next person shouting for his attention. James turned on his heel and led them at right angles to the way they'd come in. With every step, his tension grew, until Len's curiosity got the better of him.

"Who's Agent Carter?" The name wasn't familiar from any of Len's digging into James' past. He'd thought he knew all the names of the Howling Commandos, though certainly not every member of the 107th. Was this guy some kind of rival of Captain America's?

"Officially, the British Liaison for the SSR." James made a visible effort to force himself to relax, but it didn't accomplish much. "In reality, the effective head of intelligence and spy operations for the 107th. Most importantly, other than Steve Rogers, the person I least wanted to have to talk to."

"Someone who knew..." Len nearly said 'you', but caught himself at the last moment. Ray was clearly all ears. "Sergeant Barnes well?"

"Also probably the sharpest tack in the 107th. Carter knows every damn man who belongs in this camp by sight, so stay back and keep your heads down." James ran a hand through his slicked back hair, frustrated. He cast a sideways look at Len, fear and desperation lurking deep in his eyes. 

"You got this," Len told him, shifting so he could catch James' fingers in his without anyone seeing, squeezing tight.

James squeezed back, hard enough that Len had to fight a wince, before James nodded and stepped back. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

He turned on his heel and marched away, his steps sharp and purposeful, like all the other military men around them. Len tipped his head at Mick. "I'm going after him. Keep an eye on our boytoy here."

Mick grunted agreement, and Ray's eyes went wide in protest. "Hey, how come you get to..."

"Remember what the Sarge said," Mick rumbled, with a look of glee. "Open mouth, insert fist."

"He only meant while we were interacting with..."

Leaving the two to the argument, Len slipped away and took a parallel path to the one James had been on. He did his best to match his lover's way of walking, not wanting to stand out among all these Army veterans. The last thing he needed was someone stopping him to ask where he was going.

It really was amazing how people would ignore you as long as you looked like you were busy. Len had used the trick before, casing banks and museums and the like, and it worked just as well in an Army encampment. In short order he heard James' voice ahead, so he slipped sideways into a nearby operations tent and picked a sheaf of papers up off a desk, rifling through them as if he was reading the reports.

Edging forward, he finally spotted James to the left. To his surprise, the other man had stopped to talk to a pretty brunette woman. She was dressed in a smart khaki suit that looked like it was probably a woman's uniform. Some kind of secretary, maybe? Len knew women had fought in the Second World War, but he was pretty sure they'd had their own units, not mixed with the men.

She seemed to know James quite well, judging by her casual, welcoming body language and the soft tone of her voice. Hell, she even reached out and lifted James' left hand, the one hidden by the 'bloody' bandage, concern clear in her expression. Len caught the tail end of her question "...get hurt?".

Something went hard in Len's chest, and acid burned at his throat. Was this a former girlfriend? Someone the charming Bucky Barnes had known intimately? It had honestly never occurred to Len that they might encounter an ex of his lover's, not when they were in the middle of a warzone. 

James seemed uncomfortable, and looked like he was on the verge of yanking his hand back, but after a moment he smoothed out his expression and forced himself to relax. That confirmed that this woman was someone who had a right to hold 'Bucky's' hand.

"Just a scratch," James assured her. Len could hear the tension in the other man's tone, and clearly the woman could too, because she looked up at him, narrow-eyed, and raised a scolding eyebrow. 

James lifted his other hand as if in surrender. "I swear! That's not why I'm back. We ran into something unexpected, and Steve sent me back for intel on this Vandal Savage character. Phillips said you're the gal to talk to."

 _This_ was Agent Carter? Len realized he was staring in shock, and hastily lowered his gaze before she caught him at it. Small wonder James hadn't wanted to talk to her, if they'd been that close. A girlfriend would certainly spot the changes in her lover, possibly even faster than a lifelong best friend. Especially if this woman was as clever as she must be, to have earned such high praise from James.

At least she'd dropped James' hand, and was all business now. "Well, if you believe the local rumours, Savage is a four thousand-year-old Egyptian god, worshipped by a powerful cult and completely immortal." Her tone was very dry, indicating she didn't believe a single word of the stories.

If only she knew.

James huffed a laugh. "Right, 'cause that's exactly what this war needs. Someone even crazier than the Skull. Steve's worried Schmidt will try to hook up with this Savage guy, maybe combine resources."

Carter looked thoughtful. "It is a possibility, given Schmidt's obsession with the occult and ancient lore. Likewise, the Tesseract might well be an object of interest to someone like Savage. You're in luck - I just finished typing up my full report to Colonel Phillips. I'll give this copy to you for Steve and go make another."

"Perfect. You're a lifesaver." James smiled at her, and Len's heart ached at the sight of it. That smile was happy and carefree, and knowing how painful it must be to fake it only hurt Len all the more.

Hell, how would he feel, if he had to come back from a future where he hadn't seen James in years, would never see his lover again, but had to smile and pretend nothing was wrong? Len doubted he'd be handling it half as well as James was with this woman.

They'd exchanged a few more words while Len was preoccupied with his own thoughts. Carter caught his attention again when she stepped closer and lowered her voice, her smile turning impish - and intimate.

"Do pass along my regards to the rest of the Commandos," she asked, an arched eyebrow suggesting there was some kind of in-joke involved in her words.

James smiled back, but didn't match the wicked teasing of hers - knowing his lack of social graces, he probably didn't realize the tone of the conversation had changed. "Yeah, of course. We'll be back in camp before you know it. Thanks, Peggy. I'll see you again soon."

Carter looked surprised, then concerned. Whatever cue James had just missed, it was making her notice something was off with 'Bucky'. She hesitated, but after a moment nodded and patted his upper arm. "I'll see you then."

The moment she turned away, James pivoted and headed straight for the spot where Len was lurking. Smiling ruefully, Len put down his handful of reports and fell into step beside his lover. "I should have known you'd realize I was there."

"I heard you follow me," James confirmed. "Figured you would, anyway. Nosy Parker."

Len chuckled. "You say that like you've never pumped Lisa for information about what I was like as a kid. I hate to be the one to break it to you, but you're not exactly subtle in your interrogation methods."

All hints of teasing dropped out of James' eyes, replaced by the flat, dead look that was all that remained of the weapon he'd been, these days. The expression of the Winter Soldier, the Fist of HYDRA, who had undoubtedly interrogated quite a number of people in extremely unsubtle ways.

On top of all the painful reminders surrounding them, Len's words had been exactly the wrong thing to say. He cursed himself silently, and wished he dared to reach out and touch James' arm, the way Carter had. Sometimes physical touch helped remind James to stay grounded in the here and now, and not get lost in the past. Even if 'the here and now' was in fact exactly the past James wanted to escape.

Unfortunately, if he remembered his history correctly, acting 'gay' might get them both into very deep trouble. "Let's get out of here," he suggested instead. Hopefully a change of scenery would help remind James who he was now, instead of who he'd been.

They found the others without too much trouble, more or less where they'd been left. They'd gotten commandeered into hauling supply boxes off a truck. Mick was grumbling, and Ray was beaming like the job was exciting simply because he was doing it for the Howling Commandos base. James was able to claim them back easily enough, and they left camp at a quick trot.

Only when they were safely out of sight of any sentries did James finally start to relax again. "We should be clear," he told them, though he didn't slow their pace. "Keep moving, in case they're watching from a distance for some reason."

"So the meeting with this Carter guy went okay?" Ray asked. "We got what we needed?"

James lifted the folder with the report as an answer. Len found it interesting that he didn't correct Ray's assumption that Carter was male. Because he didn't want to have to talk more about his past? 

Or because it hurt too much to think about her? 

Damn it, even Len knew it was ridiculous for him to be jealous of a woman who was likely decades dead. This was the first time he'd ever seen James interact with someone else the man _cared_ about, other than Len, and it had hit him a lot harder than he'd expected it to.

Part of him wanted to tease his lover about the woman, use that as a cover to probe for more information, try to find out just _how_ important she'd been to Bucky. He held his tongue, only because he didn't want to open James up to questions from anyone else. Ray never did know when to keep his mouth shut.

It didn't take them long to get back to the meadow where they'd landed the Waverider. From the outside there was nothing to see but open space and the trees on the other side, reflected by the ship's invisibility shield. 

"All right," James said as they approached. "The sooner we get this intel to Gideon and get the hell out of here, the happier I'll be." 

A crack appeared in the air, slowly widening to reveal the interior of the ship as the bay door dropped to form a ramp for them to enter. From the trees to the side came a loud gasp, followed by a strident female voice. "Good _God_ , what is _that_?"

All four of them whirled. James had his gun up and aimed straight at the intruder before Len could even reach for his, but a moment later he lifted the muzzle to point at the sky. He flung his arm out to stop Mick, who had set himself to charge at their unknown observer. "Hold fire!" James ordered, and he sounded frantic.

Standing just inside the treeline, gaping at the impossible 'hole in the world' that led inside the ship, was none other than Peggy Carter.


	3. Chapter 3

Time seemed to freeze as James stared at Peggy across the clearing - or maybe it was his heart that stopped, because it sure felt that way. How the hell had she followed them without him noticing the tail?

And what the _fuck_ was he supposed to do with her now?

Adrenaline kicked James into high gear, and it only took him a second to push through the shock. He lifted his gun away from her, not wanting to shoot her by accident. Then he realized Rory was getting set to charge the interloper, and flung his left arm out to block the man's path. "Hold fire," he ordered, his voice sharp. "Nobody fucking move."

Then he looked back at Peggy, frustration and resentment churning in his gut. She was still gaping at the Waverider's entrance, too surprised for the moment to do anything else, but she'd recover fast. If his admittedly spotty memories were anything to go by, she didn't let much keep her from doing her job, and doing it well.

Which, in this case, meant following them back to their base. James didn't know what he'd done to give the game away, but he was pretty sure the reason she'd been able to tail them was because he'd been so damned wrapped up in his own guilt and regret, and not paying attention to what was going on around him.

Sloppy. Incredibly sloppy. And now she could be the one to pay for it, because Hunter might not be willing to let her waltz off, knowing even this much about the Waverider.

"Goddamn it, Carter," he snarled, pushed beyond the limits of patience and no longer willing to try to play 'nice Bucky' for her. "For once in your life could you not have kept your nose out of it?"

His comment seemed to refocus her, and her expression changed from shock to anger. She pulled her pistol and aimed it at them. "Stop right there. You gentlemen have some serious explaining to do."

Of course, her pulling her weapon had Len and Rory doing the same, and James cursed under his breath. Even worse, Palmer stepped forward with his hands held up as if in surrender, that 'aw shucks' smile on his face that he did so well. "Ma'am, I assure you, we're on the same side," Palmer said, the earnest sincerity all but oozing from his pores.

Peggy, expert spy that she was, wasn't buying any. "Then I'm sure you won't mind coming back to the base with me to explain to my superiors why you felt it necessary to impersonate Sergeant Barnes in order to illegally obtain classified information."

"Yeah, that's not gonna happen." Len snorted, and gave her a crooked smile. There was a dark edge to it that James didn't like, and he wasn't sure what was causing it. Peggy was hardly the first person to ever trip over the Waverider crew and expose that they didn't belong, and probably wouldn't be the last. 

In another moment she was going to start firing. Palmer probably wouldn't shoot back, and Len _might_ not, but Rory definitely would. This was getting out of hand way too fast. Making a decision, James holstered his own weapon and stepped forward, in front of the others, drawing her attention to him.

"You three get that intel to Gideon so we can start planning our next move," he ordered, with a jerk of his head at the entrance, but without taking his eyes off Peggy. "I'll deal with this."

"Any of you takes one step toward that... doorway... and I'll put a bullet through your knee." Peggy's threat was somewhat ruined by the way she stumbled over what to call the impossible entrance hanging in the air.

"James, you sure about this?" Len asked, his voice low enough not to carry to her. James could see his lover from the corner of his eye, and Len looked concerned. "Maybe one of us should talk to her, instead of you."

"I can handle it," James assured the other man. Palmer would be an idiot and blurt out everything. Len would try to be cagey and Peggy would only be all the more determined to find out what was really going on. Rory... James honestly wasn't sure who'd win the inevitable resulting fight, but if Peggy was hurt it could derail history. 

He was the only one with a chance of convincing her to stand down and _not_ fuck everything up. Even if she was possibly the last person he wanted to talk to.

"I said don't move," Peggy exclaimed when Palmer sighed and started toward the ship as ordered.

James stepped sideways, again putting himself between her and the others. "So go ahead," he invited her, not making any attempt to pretend to be Bucky. "Shoot."

"Don't think I'll hesitate because you're wearing the face of a friend," she warned him with narrowed eyes, finger tight on the trigger.

James surprised both of them with a brief, genuine laugh. "I _know_ you won't hesitate. Not even if you believed I really was Barnes, if you thought he was betraying you. Do it."

She fired three times in quick succession. It was a tight race even for him, but he was able to dodge the first, deflect the second with his metal arm, and catch the third in his left hand. As her jaw dropped and she stared at him, he turned his hand over and opened the fingers, showing her the flattened slug lying in his palm, then let it fall to the ground.

"You can't hurt me," he told her, quiet but letting her see the confidence he had in the statement. "So how 'bout you put that gun away, and we talk like rational adults, huh?"

"How did you... you have serum," she jumped to the obvious conclusion. At this point in time, supersoldiers caused by Erskine's serum were the only form of Enhanced people out there. The fact that she happened to be correct in his case was actually low odds, if she'd only known it. The world was a strange, strange place in the twenty-first century.

He didn't bother to deny it. "Close enough."

Of course, she then jumped to the other obvious conclusion, her eyes narrowing and grip going tight on the pistol. "You're HYDRA."

" _Fuck_ , no." The knee-jerk snarl escaped him before he could tame it. She arched an eyebrow, intrigued by his reaction, and he drew a deep breath to swallow the rage down. "We're not HYDRA. Palmer wasn't lying about us being on the same side. Think of us as a covert version of the Commandos, but aimed at Savage instead of the Skull."

"Why should I believe you?" she demanded. "You stole the face of a dear friend and slunk into my camp like a criminal. Now you're trying to convince me to drop it because you assure me you're the good guys?"

Frustrated, James considered his options. None of them were good. He could knock her out and leave, but what if something happened to her while she was unconscious and vulnerable? They were behind Allied lines, but this was far enough from camp that the sentries didn't patrol. She was vital to history, part of the team that would eventually found SHIELD - and more importantly, she was vital to Steve. 

"Listen to me," he growled, locking eyes with her and willing her to believe him. "If I explain this to your satisfaction, you will regret it. Because if you know what I know, you will spend the rest of your goddamn life lying to Steve about it."

"I would never do that," she snapped back, incensed.

"You would if the fate of the war rested on it," he replied, flat and cold. They both knew he was right. "You would if there was no other way to protect the world. But you'll hate yourself for it, and it'll eat at you every day, every time you look at him."

"If it's that vital to the war, whatever it is, then there'd be no need to lie to him. He'll understand as well."

Despite himself, James barked a short, sharp laugh. "Are we talking about the same Steve Rogers, here? The guy who went AWOL thirty miles behind enemy lines with a tin shield and a costume helmet, not even knowing if the friend he wanted to rescue was still alive? Steve will always do the right thing. But sometimes there's more than one 'right thing', and when it comes to the people he loves, he'll say to hell with everything else and assume that he'll figure out a way to fix it after."

Startled, she stared at him in a new light. "That is _not_ the insight of a stranger. Who are you?"

Fuck. Everything he did to try to dig himself out of the hole only buried him deeper. Gritting his teeth, James shook his head. "You know I'm right. Are you willing to take the risk? Because if he ever, _ever_ finds out you lied to him about this, he won't just refuse to forgive you. He'll hate you for it."

For a moment he thought he'd reached her. Her determination faltered, eyes wide and expression vulnerable. She _should_ be worried, because Steve's hatred would be every bit as passionate as all the other emotions he threw at life. And if anything could make Steve hate, it would be finding out that Peggy had known what was happening to Bucky, the tortures he'd endured for seventy years, and done nothing to rescue him.

Then she squared her shoulders and nodded. "Scaring me off isn't going to work. Convince me, or I will _find_ a way to shoot you."

Growling, James looked away and gathered himself. This was going to be fucking agonizing, for both of them. Returning his gaze to hers, he drew a breath. "That night in the bar, when you asked Steve to dance... I've never had a dame refuse to even _look_ at me, before. I honestly didn't know how to handle it. Part of me was jealous, but part of me was thinking 'It's about damn time'. When you turned me down by saying you were waiting for the right partner, I knew he'd finally found the right gal."

Her eyes grew wider and wider throughout that recitation. Skepticism, doubt, disbelief and finally shock chased each other across her face. There had been nobody but the three of them that night on the officer's side of the bar. Even the bartender had been too far away to overhear. Nobody could have told the story to him, not in so much detail.

"Bucky?" she whispered, still trying to find some other explanation, but failing utterly. "I don't understand."

"I'm from the future. _Yes_ , I know it sounds insane," he preempted the protest that was written all over her face. Grimacing, he unwound the bandage from around his left hand, then held it up to reveal the shiny metal palm and fingers. He wiggled his fingers, to show the impossible articulation and control. "I lose the arm about a month from now. This isn't something that could be built in this time, and you know it."

Not quite true - it wasn't more than a few years from now that Zola would give him the first version of the arm. But it had been improved a great deal since then, and as far as Peggy knew, it _shouldn't_ have been possible.

Her gaze darted past him to the Waverider door, then back to his face, and he could see the reality of it finally settling in. "All right. Let's say for argument's sake that I believe you're from the future. Why is that something I'd have to lie to Steve about for the rest of my life?"

"Because as far as anyone in the Allied Forces is gonna know, I won't lose my arm in a month, I'll lose my life." James shook his head. "Steve will be grieving, blaming himself, totally devastated. You're gonna know that I'm out there somewhere; suffering, tortured, no hope in sight. And you're gonna look him in the face, and tell him you're so sorry for his loss."

"Absolutely not." A familiar stubborn look entered her eyes. It was a match for the one Steve so often sported, and one of the reasons she worked so well with him. Steve could steamroll people without meaning to, but never Peggy. "What possible reason could be good enough for me to not only lie to him, but leave you in enemy hands? That's what you're saying, isn't it?"

"Ten seconds," James replied, soft and pained. "That's how close we came to losing this war, Peg. It was a race between the Skull getting his plane off the runway and Steve trying to get onto the plane to stop him. Ten seconds later, and the plane is gone before Steve gets near it." 

His voice was growing ragged, and he had to pause to swallow, trying to steady his breathing and pulse. James hadn’t been present for that event, already in HYDRA’s tender care. But he’d read every scrap of information he could get his hands on, trying to jog his memories. First hand accounts from Peggy and the other Commandos about the end of the war made it easy enough to picture the reality.

Thankfully Peggy was too stunned to interrupt him, obviously thinking through all the potential implications of the situation.

When he was sure he could continue without breaking down, James spoke. "Losing me pushes Steve into fighting that much harder, to get revenge on HYDRA for my death. Without that, he wouldn't have made it in time. But worse, if he knows I'm alive out there somewhere..."

"He'll go after you at all costs," Peggy finished, closing her eyes in pained resignation. "Even if I tell him the potential consequences, he'll decide he can do both, and risk failing."

Steve would take that risk, but Peggy never would. She'd wouldn't allow the Skull to have such a good chance to drop those bombs on the world's capitals, not when she could do something about it. She _would_ lie to Steve.

She opened her eyes and looked at him again, wretched but not quite resigned. "All right. All right! I won't tell him you're alive at the time. But after Schmidt is dealt with, why in God's name would we not mount a rescue operation?"

At least partly because they were going to be dealing with the fallout of Steve's 'death', but under no circumstances was James going to tell her about _that_. "The Skull's defeat isn't the only important moment in history that might be changed if you do come after me. Maybe it'll make things better for me, but what if it makes them worse for the world? Things aren't perfect in the future, not by a long shot, but it could still be a lot worse."

"Says the man apparently travelling in a time ship to change the past?" Peggy gave him an impatient look. "Why is it okay for you?"

"Because it has to be done." James thought about everything he'd heard about Savage's activities in the future, everything he'd seen of the bastard so far, and shook his head. "Because this threat is big enough that _anything_ that changes will still be an improvement. What Savage does to the world can't be allowed to happen, and the only way we're gonna stop him is by fighting him _before_ he becomes that powerful."

She searched his eyes, probably trying to gauge his sincerity. The corner of her mouth twisted down, but she sighed in capitulation. "How long do they have you?" she asked softly. "You don't look much older, but... Dr. Erskine did theorize the serum might cause aging to stop..."

"A very long time. And it's not you who gets me free in the end, so don't think you're just waiting for the right moment. Stay out of it. Move on as if I was dead." Otherwise, she might get impatient and try to rescue him, at some point in the intervening decades.

Clenching his left hand, James tried very hard to convince himself that he didn't want her to do exactly that.

"You were right," she murmured, grief and heartache shining in her eyes. "I didn't want to know this. God. He'll never forgive me."

"No. He won't." This was not a betrayal Steve would ever move past, no matter how much he loved Peggy. In a horrible way, it was actually a blessing that Steve would be lost for so long, because at least it meant Peggy wouldn't have to live with the guilt of that lie every single day of their lives together.

She reached out to catch his right hand in hers. James went stiff, but allowed the contact. He bowed his head as she squeezed his fingers, her hand so tiny and fragile in his. Another issue occurred to him, and he cocked his head. "Peggy? What gave me away?" he asked. It was unlikely he'd need to play himself again, but who knew?

Her smile was crooked, and it was obvious she was trying to put on a good face, but not succeeding much. "You didn't flirt with me."

"I didn't _what_?" James stared at her, floored.

"Normally, when I said that about passing my regards to the others, you'd have..." She waved a hand vaguely in the air, giving him an odd look. Probably wondering how he didn't know this already. "I don't know. You'd have offered to pass on a kiss as well, if I wanted to give one to Steve via you. Something like that."

That was the last thing he'd expected her to say. Sure, Bucky Barnes had been a charmer and a ladies' man, but he'd flirted with her _after_ she'd started stepping out with Steve? "I was the kind of guy who'd poach on his best friend's girl?"

"No, of course not." Her utterly startled look did more to reassure him than the words themselves. "It was all in fun. You were teasing Steve and I both - and, I think, perhaps gently reassuring him each time that I still only wanted him, no matter how charming you were."

"Right. Okay." He could live with that. Steve had watched so _many_ gals pass him over for Bucky without a second glance. Reminding him that he'd found one who wouldn't... yeah, a best friend would do that. "You should go. They'll miss you soon, and I need to get back to my team so we can start this mission."

She squeezed his hand again as if reluctant to let go. In the end, however, she nodded and stepped back, though she clearly wasn't happy about it. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "I'm so sorry we have to do this."

"I'm sorry, too." He was, because she wasn't a person who could easily live with the knowledge that a friend was alive and suffering, and she could do something about it, but wasn't allowed to. “This is _my_ choice. Don’t forget that. And tell Steve - given the chance to do it all over again, I’d still fight with him.”

It was safe enough for her to say that to him. Steve would have no idea that it was more than a platitude, would never believe she meant it literally. James knew his best friend would be blaming himself for Bucky’s death, and words could never ease that, but maybe they’d help a little.

Maybe they’d help Peggy, too.

Turning away as if she feared looking at him longer would weaken her resolve, Peggy headed back the way she'd come. He watched her until she was out of sight, stomach churning with regret and indecision, fighting the urge to call out or run after her.

Because the truth was, she was his loophole to get out of seventy years of torture. Steve had to believe Bucky was dead, yes - but after the war? 

It wasn't James, specifically, who'd made any further differences in history. It was the Winter Soldier. If Bucky Barnes hadn't been the man HYDRA chose to turn into their Fist, it simply would have been a different prisoner. 

Which meant there would still _be_ a Winter Soldier, it just wouldn't be _him_. History would remain intact. Steve would probably kill the Soldier on the helicarrier, but what would that really change? 

Only James' presence in the Rogues. Yes, he'd been instrumental in helping them take down Death Metal, but he firmly believed they and Team Flash would have managed without him in the end. So it all came down to his relationship with Len.

_Was it worth it?_


	4. Chapter 4

No matter how he strained, Len couldn't quite make out the conversation between James and Agent Carter from where he was lurking inside the door. He told himself he was staying behind to provide backup should James need it - Carter was a potential threat, and he had a feeling his lover wouldn't make any real move to defend himself, if the woman did attack for real.

If Lisa were there, she'd be laughing her ass off at his justifications, and teasing him about jealousy. The annoying thing was, he could hear her in his head anyway, and the imagined version was every bit as aggravating as the genuine article.

They were too close together. Too intimate. There was an expression of anguish on James' face, and a matching one slowly grew on Carter's, presumably as he told her something of what would happen to him. When she reached for James' hand, Len ground his teeth and forced himself to pull back where he couldn't see them.

Otherwise, he was going to end up charging out there to 'rescue' James, and to hell with the consequences.

After what felt like a small eternity, James finally trudged up the ramp into the ship, and hit the button to close the bay door behind him. He paused when he saw Len perched on a pile of crates. It was hard to tell if his scowl was actually aimed at Len, or was a general reaction to the events of the day.

"All sorted out?" Len asked. 

"Yeah." James looked away. Embarrassment? It was impossible to tell if he was blushing in the dim light of the cargo bay, and his expressions were difficult to read at the best of times. Had he kissed his old girlfriend goodbye, and now felt bad upon seeing Len?

God damn it, this was nothing but conjecture, and Len was going to drive himself crazy with it. 

When it was clear there would be nothing more forthcoming, he sighed and prompted the other man. "How did you get her to back off? She seemed like the determined type." Strong and fierce, exactly the kind of woman he could imagine appealing to James - or rather, to Bucky.

"I don't want to talk about it." Yeah, that growl was _definitely_ aimed at Len, specifically. 'It's none of your business' was written loud and clear all over James' body language.

Except it bloody well was Len's business, as far as he was concerned. "I'm worried about you." That was the truth, as far as it went. It just wasn't his only reason for caring about what had happened out there. "Today's put a lot of strain on you, and talking to her clearly didn't help."

"No, it didn't." James glared at him with a ferocity that Len hadn't seen in a very long time. Not since they'd become lovers, and James had opened up enough to trust him. "So I'd appreciate it if you fucking dropped it."

It was like poking at a sore tooth. Len couldn't help himself. "If you were that close to her, if she cared about you that much, you probably could have set up some kind of rescue operation for yourself.

Snarling, James turned and punched his left fist into the nearest storage container. It was a heavy duty metal bin, and the dent he put into the side was impressive. Hopefully whatever was inside hadn't been fragile. Somewhere in the back of his mind the sensible part of Len was prodding at him, reminding him that he was deliberately provoking the world's most deadly assassin. 

"You think I don't know that?" James' voice was rough, a low, vicious sound that shouldn't have come from any human throat. "You think I haven't been running through every way I could save myself, ever since we touched down here? I could go put myself on the wounded list. I could tell Steve the truth, and he'd keep me off that mission. And worst of all, I could tell Peggy exactly where to come rescue me, after the war's over. That wouldn't even change history."

Fuck it. In for a penny, in for a pound. Len had to know the answer. "So why don't you?" 

Everything about James went utterly still, in that inhumane way he had when the Winter Soldier had a tight grip on him. When he turned to face Len, his expression was flat and devoid of emotion. His voice was the same when he spoke, all the agony and indecision gone like it had never been. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were trying to convince me I should."

"You know how important you are to me." Len got right up into his lover's face, eyes narrowed and hands clenched. "I would save you from that torture if I could, James."

"Important enough to you that you'd save me, even though it would mean losing me?" There was a dangerous light in James' eyes that Len had never seen before. Not the Soldier - something deeper than that. "I'd never meet you. Hell, odds are I'd be dead by the time you're old enough to even want to have a best guy."

The thought of never meeting James, of losing the best thing that had ever happened to him, hit Len hard. He realized that somewhere in the back of his mind, he'd been assuming that James would change, lose some of the hurtful past that tortured him so badly, but would somehow still be with Len.

James wasn't finished, though. "You've already tried to change history once so that we're never together. If you're getting bored of me, just fucking _tell_ me, Len. What, you think I'll kill you if you dump me?"

" _What_?" Len stared at him, utterly floored. "What the hell are you talking about? When did I ever try to get rid of you?"

"For god's sake." That icy shell finally cracked, showing the outrage and pain beneath. "I helped you do it. What do you call stealing that emerald and giving it to your bastard father? We did it so he wouldn't go to jail, wouldn't come out harder and beat you and Lisa. Tell me if your childhood had been better, if he hadn't forced you into a life of crime and driven you so far into your shell, that things still would have worked out between us."

Stunned, Len stared at him. Of course James was right. If Len's father hadn't been such an unrelenting bastard - if he'd never lost his job as a cop, never gone through years of prison and come out a far worse man - then Len's life would have taken a very different path. 

Even if he'd still become a criminal somehow, there was every chance that without having developed all his trust and commitment issues, Len would have already had a permanent lover by the time James came along. Maybe even Mick.

"I didn't..." Len's voice rasped in his dry throat. He swallowed. "That wasn't my intention. Why the hell did you go along with it and not say anything?"

James closed his eyes, and turned away. "Because you're important to me, too, asshole. So's Lisa. If the two of you could've had a better life, if I could help give you that, of _course_ I would do it."

There was grief and regret and desperation in James' words, but no hesitation. He'd helped Len steal that emerald without so much as a blink of protest, thinking all the while that Len understood it would cost the two of them their relationship. 

How could he have believed otherwise? It was utterly unlike Len not to think a plan through all the way to its logical conclusion. Unfortunately, his father was the one thing that could push Len's buttons hard enough to make him react without thinking, especially when it came to protecting Lisa.

And maybe, if he was being honest, Len _had_ known the risk, somewhere deep in his mind that he'd refused to pay attention to. If it had only been his own hurtful childhood he was changing, he wouldn't have done it. But he'd prioritized protecting Lisa, giving her a chance at a better life, over his happiness with James.

If he could do it over again, knowing consciously what he was sacrificing, Len couldn't even swear that he wouldn't make the same choice a second time. In the end it had amounted to nothing, his idiot of a father still getting himself arrested the next day, but that wasn't the point.

The worst part was knowing that James understood that, didn't blame Len for the decision - but apparently, worried that it meant Len _wanted_ to be free of their tangled relationship.

"I'm not tired of you." Len put as much force into the words as he could. "I don't want you gone, James. Never that."

"Then quit trying to goad me into changing my past. Because I'm already one fucking inch from doing it, and the only thing stopping me is you."

With those heartwrenching words, James stalked out of the cargo bay. Len was left staring after him, chest aching with the knowledge of how close he was to losing damn near everything that mattered. James could yet change his mind.

And if that happened, Len would help his lover do it. Even if it killed him inside.

* * *

It was the usual motley crew that gathered in the cargo bay in preparation for the hunt. Len lurked in a corner as was his usual practice, fingering the cold gun and watching the others through the cool blue lens of his goggles. Normally he kept them down around his neck until he needed them, but he was still wound up from his 'talk' with James. He didn't want any of the others to see the vulnerability he was afraid might still be showing in his eyes.

Not like they'd never had a fight before. Far from it. They were both stubborn and opinionated, each certain they knew what was best at any given time, and they clashed over it frequently. Where it came to the Rogues, in the end James would always give way if Len put his foot down - but Len had learned to listen carefully when James did protest. As for their personal lives, well, nobody had final say there. It made for some tumultuous arguments.

And really, _really_ fucking hot makeup sex. After Lisa had gleefully explained that concept to James, Len was pretty sure the bastard had started enjoying the process. Not picking fights, exactly. It was more that he didn't hold back, letting his anger run hot instead of cold, and more than happy to end the fight with a fierce kiss instead of an agreement. 

This was not one of those fights. Len had gone looking for his lover, intent on apologizing properly and clearing the air between them, but James was nowhere to be found. It seemed impossible that someone could vanish in the small, closed environment of the ship, yet Len wasn't in the least surprised that James managed it.

Now they were all ready to go assault Savage's WW2 base, except James was still MIA. It was unlike him to ever be late to a mission. Usually he was the first through the door, in fact. Len sat tense and restless, fidgeting with his ring, his eyes locked on the door leading to the rest of the ship.

Sara drifted over to him, body language casual, but her eyes sharp. "Where’s James?"

"I'm not his keeper." The words came out harsher than he’d intended, and Len tried to put a rein on his temper. Snapping at her would only make her more interested. Modulating his tone into something more reasonable, Len tried again. "It's been a tough day for him. That farce this morning wasn't easy for him to pull off."

There was a surprising amount of understanding and sympathy in Sara's expression. Len wasn't sure exactly how much the former League of Assassins member knew about James' history, but he suspected it was a great deal more than the rest of the ship's crew. The two of them had performed an odd little stand-off when they first met, staring and sizing each other up. 

James had finally nodded and said, "Ta-er Al-Sahfer." She'd responded with "Zimniy Soldat", which Len knew was Russian for Winter Soldier. He assumed what James had said was Sara's codename in the League. 

Neither of them had ever brought it up again - but they'd shared a kind of deadly camaraderie since then. When James wasn't with Len, he could often be found in Sara's company, usually comparing and sharpening their various blades.

"He's tough," she said. "He'll get through it. But we need him for this. If he can't..." Whatever else she might have said was lost as the door opened, and James came into the cargo bay.

Or rather, the Winter Soldier did.

Heart pounding, Len stared at the deadly assassin who only vaguely resembled his lover. He'd seen pictures in the hacked HYDRA files, but never the real thing. James' hair was long again, and he wore the leather vest covered with weapons that he usually did when they weren't trying to blend in, but that was where 'normal' stopped. 

His face was completely obscured, with a menacing metal mask covering the lower half, and impenetrably dark goggles hiding his eyes. The jacket had only one sleeve, leaving the bright metal arm bare to the air, a dangerous weapon in its own right. Cisco had removed the red star when he’d replaced the arm for James after it was damaged, but in all other ways, this _was_ the Winter Soldier.

Biting his tongue, Len swallowed the questions and protests that sprang to his lips. If they'd been in private he'd have vehemently protested this. After drowning in Bucky Barnes for the morning, the last thing James needed was to bury himself in the Winter Soldier as well. But he wouldn't drag James' past out in front of the others. That was probably exactly why James had been avoiding him until this moment.

"Why?" was all Len said. That was safe enough, because the same question was written all over the faces of everyone else in the bay.

"Agent Carter's intel says Savage's base isn't far from where the Commandos are operating right now." The mask distorted James' voice, but it was still understandable. "We _shouldn't_ run into them, but we all know how our fucking luck goes on these missions. Murphy's Law applies with a vengeance. I can't risk Rogers or Barnes seeing my face."

It was a good reason. A logical, well-thought out reason, difficult to argue with. Len wasn't sure he bought that it was the _real_ reason, however. Any mask would have accomplished the same thing. There was no need for James to use _this_ look, specifically. He didn't need to be the Winter Soldier for this mission, he just needed to not be identifiable as Bucky Barnes.

Some form of self-punishment? That would certainly be in character for James. Or was the punishment aimed at Len? A reminder of what James had suffered, what he was willing to go through, in order to make their relationship work? A taunt about what Len was asking him to endure, even though Len had already tried to change his own, far less traumatic past?

Cold fingers skittered their way down Len's spine in a chilling reaction to his thoughts. As much as he loved it when James ran his cooled metal hand up and down Len's back, the metaphorical version was far from pleasant.

Twisting the ring on his pinkie finger, Len tried not to shiver. He had a very, very bad feeling about this.


	5. Chapter 5

Peggy's intel had managed to collate rumours and narrow down the likely location of Savage's secret base to within a square mile. That was still an awful lot of hilly, wooded country to cover, all of it deep into Axis territory. There was a HYDRA base not far, which was why James was concerned they might encounter the Commandos. It also meant the ground in the area could well be crawling with Nazi or HYDRA troops.

James desperately did not want to encounter his old friends. Dealing with Phillips had been bad enough. Talking to Carter had been devastating. Coming face to face with Steve Rogers might well destroy him entirely.

And if he met his past self... James honestly wasn't sure he could resist the temptation to break Bucky's arms and have done with it once and for all. At least once he took the action, the _possibility_ of it wouldn't be dangling in front of him forever.

Not for the first time since they'd boarded the Waverider, he cursed the fact that he'd ever learned time travel was a possibility. Life had been so much simpler when the only direction he could go was forward.

Len sidled up close to him as the Legends made their way through the forest. James ignored his lover's quiet attempts to start a conversation. He knew it was rude, knew he should at least be telling Len outright that he didn't want to talk, but it felt like he was trapped in his own head. 

Frankly, he was too angry and out of sorts right now to have any kind of reasonable conversation. Anything he might say to Len would only make things so much worse, and that wasn't what he wanted to do right now. So he retreated into silence, and finally Len took the hint and went to walk beside Mick instead.

That should have been a relief, but instead it only made James snarl under his breath. At Len, at himself, at the whole fucking world that had put him in this situation in the first place. 

The way Len's shoulders slumped in defeat didn't help James’ mood any, either. He didn't _want_ to hurt his lover. He knew Len didn't want to hurt him, either. Yet somehow, they kept doing it.

As usual, 'covert' was the last word that could be applied to the Legends. They tramped through the forest, half of them chattering with each other in 'whispers' that probably carried farther in the snowy woods than ordinary voices would have. Saunders had her wings hidden, and Stein and Jackson were still separate, but that was the only concession they made to pretending to be normal. Like James, the rest of them were dressed in what they considered battle gear.

This fight was too important to risk fucking it up because they were trying to blend in. They'd need every bit of firepower they had to take down Savage. Anyone they met out here was going to be an enemy they could safely defeat or kill without screwing up the timeline, anyway.

As long as they didn't encounter the Commandos.

Lost in his brooding thoughts, James damn near walked out into a clearing without remembering to check the ground first. An inch from putting his foot down, he spotted the suspicious mound of recently overturned earth. "Everyone freeze!"

Somewhat to his shock, they actually obeyed. "What is it, Sergeant?" Hunter asked, watching him sharply.

Pulling his foot back to a safe distance, James crouched to examine the churned ground. Sure enough the gleam of glass glinted at him from beneath a thin layer of dirt. He glanced out over the rest of the tiny forest glade, spotting more small piles. "Glasmine. Anti-personnel blast charge. Damn it, the whole place is seeded. Probably trip wires everywhere, too."

It was the perfect spot to put out mines. The glade was tempting with its lack of undergrowth, offering easier passage than the narrow, winding route between thick tree trunks. On the other side was the start of a pass that ran between the mountain they were on and the next one over. To the left of the glade the ground fell away in a sharp drop-off, making it difficult to go around. If the waterfall that spilled over the mountain near the pass was any indication, there was probably a river below.

A shot rang out, and James hit the ground with inhumanly fast reflexes. Once again the serum saved his life, as a bullet chipped a chunk out of a nearby tree, right at his head height. "Enemies ten o'clock!" More shots rained down on them, and only the dense forest saved their lives as the bullets struck the trees. 

An ambush. If they'd stepped out into the glade, between the landmines and the enemy fire they'd have been torn apart. Something nagged at him, some ephemeral shred of memory lurking just beyond his comprehension. Did he know this place? Try as he might, he couldn't remember. If it was important, it would come to him. For now, he had a battle to survive.

As haphazard and disorganized as the Legends were, James would give them this much - when push came to shove, they put up a damn good fight. Everyone whirled into action. Palmer disappeared as he shrank his Atom suit to the size of an insect and flew off. Len and Rory sent an immediate blast of ice and fire in the enemy's direction, coming dangerously close to crossing streams as they targeted the same spot. 

Saunders and Lance immediately moved to flank, while Hunter opened fire on the enemy with his energy gun. A sudden burst of heat to one side - and the terrified screams of the enemies - told him Firestorm had just joined together. James rolled to a kneeling position behind a large tree that would provide cover, and slung his rifle around to take aim.

The chaos of a firefight raged around him, but James slipped into the cold, quiet place where any good sniper lived during battle. It was easier to find than usual, maybe because of the too-familiar feel of the mask and goggles helping him to sink further into the Winter Soldier. 

The targets were mostly hidden by the trees, but James was the best in the world at what he did. He lined up his shots through tiny gaps in the tree trunks and past foliage that would have stymied another shooter. With every shot, an enemy cried out - except for the ones that simply fell over, dead. Mostly they screamed, because he didn't have good enough sightlines to get headshots.

He paid no attention to what the others were doing, except to switch targets if one of his allies took out an enemy he was aiming at. One of their foes was stupid enough to step out of cover and try to run around the edge of the glade, presumably where he knew there were no mines, trying to flee the battle faster than he could through the thick trees.

Unhurried, James lined up the shot. This one he could kill with no problems. Idiot. Who the hell ran out into the open when there was a sniper around? His finger feathered the trigger... and the enemy fell dead, a bullet hole squarely between his eyes.

Except James hadn't fired yet.

Startled out of his laser focus, he jerked his attention away from the scope and looked up. There were more people around him than there should have been, the newcomers fighting alongside the Legends.

And the first thing James saw was the agonizingly familiar red, white, and blue shield. It bounced off an enemy's helmet, ricocheted from a nearby tree, and returned to the hand of Captain America, standing tall and proud a few feet away. 

"Son of a bitch!" James bit his tongue on anything further that might slip out. The mask muffled his voice, but he didn’t want to draw Steve’s attention. It physically hurt to look at him, a sharp pain in James' chest that threatened to steal his air and stop his heart.

The rest of the Commandos were all around them, several of them gaping at the various impossibilities among the Legends crew, but mostly focusing on the battle like they should be. The questions would come after - and there _would_ be questions. 

Looking up, James found his younger self perched on a tree limb above, giving him better sight lines to the enemy. It was what James would have done if he'd had a chance. Undoubtedly, Bucky was the source of the shot that had downed the fleeing Nazi.

Nothing for it now. Putting his eye back to the scope, James returned to killing enemies. All he could do was protect his fellows-in-arms - the ones from the past, and the present. That elusive wisp of memory finally came to him, too late to do them any good - the Commandos had in fact fought a battle with the Nazis here. Apparently, at this very moment.

The luck of the Legends struck again.

There wasn't a single firefight James had ever been in that hadn't felt like it lasted an eon. Often, they were actually over in minutes, as this one was. It still left him drained with the aftermath of the adrenaline rush. Experience and the serum helped James cope with it better than others, letting him seem not to feel it, but he still did.

Pushing to his feet after the last enemy fell, he surveyed the mingled group before him, waiting for the axe to fall. Unsurprisingly, Hunter stepped forward first.

"Captain Rogers." The Brit from the future gave Steve a broad smile. "It's a pleasure and an honour to meet you. My name is Captain Rip Hunter."

Steve's smile was practiced and easy, the one he'd learned on the USO tour and gave fans, but James saw the sharp calculation in his old friend's eyes. He had his shield settled on his arm, not put away on his back, which meant he was wary and ready to react to trouble. "Captain Hunter. You have a... very unique squad."

"Here I thought _we_ were a mixed batch," Bucky added, swinging down from his elevated perch. He ended up close to Len, studying James' lover and the cold gun, then turned to look at Firestorm coming in for a landing. "This is... something else."

Len was staring intently at Bucky, his expression full of curiosity. Seeing it made something cold and hard settle into James' stomach. He knew it was Len doing what Len did, trying to learn everything he could about the people who mattered to him. It was his way of showing that he cared. 

But James didn't _want_ Len to be interested in Bucky. He didn't want his lover to get to know his past self. Bucky was friendly and charming. He had basic goddamn social skills that James knew all too well he lacked. What if Len grew to like Bucky better? What if he started comparing the two versions, and James came out on the losing side?

Hunter had that _look_ in his eyes, the one people got when they were overawed by meeting Steve. Apparently Captain America had adoring fans well into the future. "We're part of a top-secret Allied taskforce. Not so different from your Howling Commandos, Captain, but aimed at a different target. Anything further is classified beyond even your clearance, I'm afraid. Thank you for your assistance. We won't hold you up further, and I hope you'll do us the same courtesy."

Steve looked from Firestorm, to the ice statues of several Nazis, to Saunders coming in for a landing. "The Allies have this kind of firepower available and it's _not_ being thrown at HYDRA?"

Hunter shrugged. "Believe it or not, Captain, Schmidt is not the only deadly threat the Allies face. Now, if you please..."

"Uh, guys?" Palmer's voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once, the tiny Atom suit projecting his words. "We've got a problem. There's another _very large_ enemy force coming over the mountain path from the other side of the pass. They've got a tank. Scratch that, they’ve got _two_."

"That would be our target." Steve glanced at the mountain path, then back at Hunter, clearly torn. He hesitated, then nodded sharply as if he'd come to a decision. "All right, Captain. We've got a job to do, and I assume you do as well. Good hunting."

"Okay, but first, can I shake your hand?" Palmer sounded like an over-excited kid. "Seriously, I can _not_ come this close and not be able to say I shook Captain America's hand."

Only James - and Bucky - knew Steve well enough to catch the faint grimace that he quickly hid behind another plastic smile. "Always happy to meet a fan, but make it quick. Who...?"

He glanced around, clearly confused about which of the Legends had spoken. Palmer materialized into his larger self - at the edge of the damn glade. Right over a landmine that had been placed farther into the trees than the rest.

"Atom, no!" James shouted, lunging toward him as if he could do something to stop the coming disaster. Even at his inhuman speeds, he was much too far away. Palmer's suit might protect him from the anti-personnel blast. Most of the others were either shielded by trees, or out of range of the shrapnel the mine would expel.

Len and Bucky, standing near the cliff and less than ten feet from the mine, would not be so lucky.

The world seemed to slow. Adrenaline could do that to anyone in moments of crisis, but the serum amplified the effect for James. He saw Palmer drifting down toward the mine. He saw Bucky jerk his head around at James' shout, spot the landmine, and realize what was about to happen.

Flinging his arm across Len's chest, Bucky threw them both in the only direction that would get them out of the way in time - over the cliff.

Palmer’s foot touched the mine, and the world exploded. James swore and hit the dirt for the second time that day. His lunge had put him too close, within the range of the shrapnel, and he felt a sharp pain in his right shoulder. He got his left arm up in time to deflect anything headed for his face.

James forced himself to wait three seconds that took an eternity to pass, in case the first explosion triggered any other mines. When there was no further shrapnel incoming, he pushed himself to his feet and ran to the cliff edge.

It wasn't quite a vertical drop, but it was steep enough to cause potential damage to the unwary person who fell down it. The river created by the waterfall rushed by below, the flow rapid and deep. Frantic, he searched the water and banks downriver, but there was no sign of Len or his younger self. "Len!"

Before he could throw himself into the river after them, a strong hand clamped on his left shoulder. Strong enough to hold him in place, which meant it could only belong to one person. James struggled, and Steve made a startled sound as he realized the man he held was a match for him, but didn't let go.

"You're injured," Steve said, urgent and firm. "Your right arm _isn't working_. You'll drown."

Bewildered by the words, James looked down and realized what Steve had already seen. His right arm dangled limp at his side, and when he strained to lift his hand, nothing happened. Pain, held back by panic and shock, swept over him all at once. James grunted and ground his teeth, refusing to give in to the agony.

HYDRA had taught him well, conditioning him to ignore incredible levels of pain in order to complete his mission at all costs. He stayed on his feet, didn't pass out... but he still couldn't raise his right arm.

Steve was right, he would drown. The serum vastly enhanced muscle density, which was part of what made them so strong and difficult to injure. They didn't float, and swimming could be achieved only through sheer strength, especially with the weight of his metal arm dragging him down. "God damn it!" He spun on Steve. "Why the hell didn't _you_ go after them?"

A pained look crossed Steve's face. "We've got other injured, and that convoy is still incoming. I have to stay here and protect everyone."

Of course, Steve wouldn't leave helpless injured behind for HYDRA. Not even to rescue Bucky. Looking around, James saw that Saunders, Dugan, Morita, and Hunter were all hurt to some degree. Palmer had been thrown hard by the blast, and parts of his suit were smoking and sparking, indicating he might have taken some damage as well.

"Bucky and your friend got out of the blast range in time, so they shouldn't be injured," Steve added. "Buck can swim, he'll get your friend out of the river, and they'll make their way back to us."

"Len can handle himself." James had to believe that, trust that his lover would be okay. Because _he_ couldn't leave injured companions behind for the enemy, either. Even with one arm wounded, James could still do significant damage to the incoming HYDRA convoy, and it was now the responsibility of the Legends to make sure history went the way it was supposed to - the Commandos winning this fight with no losses.

At his feet, the cold gun sat at the edge of the cliff, as if mocking him. At least that meant it wouldn’t be lost in the river, but it also meant Len would be unarmed out there. Growling, James scooped it up and clipped it to his belt to keep it safe. 

Forcing himself to turn away from the cliff, he headed for where he'd dropped his rifle. By the time HYDRA got here, he'd have healed enough to be able to use it, replacing Bucky as the sniper on the mission.

Only when it was all over would he be able to go looking for his lover.


	6. Chapter 6

The river was shockingly cold, startling Len into a gasp as his body struck the surface. The water closed over his head a moment later and he had to hold his breath, struggling to find his way back to the air.

Fast and vicious, the current tumbled him this way and that until he was no longer sure which way was up. His clothes soaked up the water like a sponge, dragging him down, and his boots felt like lead weights preventing him from swimming. Trying hard not to panic, Len struggled out of his jacket and let the river tear it from his grasp, then pulled his knees to his chest and fumbled the laces on his boots until he could get them off.

Without the extra weight he was finally able to move. Hoping that the marginally brighter direction was up, he kicked hard and swam for all he was worth. His lungs were burning, the urge to breathe overwhelming, but he fought it off. Just a few more feet... god, it felt like he was hardly moving at all... it hurt, it hurt, he _had to breathe_...

It was hard to say which happened first, his head breaking the surface or his body rebelling and gulping for air. He definitely drew in some water, lungs spasming in protest, coughs wracking his body as he fought to keep his face above the surface. 

He'd dropped the cold gun at some point. It was probably at the bottom of the river with his boots, but at the moment that was the least of his worries. The weight of his water-logged clothing was still dragging him down, and the freezing water was sapping the strength from his limbs. In moments, minutes at best, he was going to grow too tired to keep his head up.

Frantic, Len looked around. The river was narrow, but the banks might as well be miles away, for all the good it did him. He didn't have the strength to make it to one. 

"Here! Take this and hang on!"

It was hard to say if Len had ever been more grateful to hear James' voice. He turned to grab the object poking him in the back, and found a broken tree branch large enough to support his weight and still float. Wrapping his arm tightly around it, he clung for dear life and was finally able to draw a full breath.

"Thanks," he shouted back over the roar of the water, and turned to see where his lover was.

Familiar blue eyes blinked back at him, but the features around them were wrong. The right shape, yes, but clean-shaven and wholesome, not scruffy and brooding. Too-short hair was slicked down over his face, and Len might have found it adorable under other circumstances.

His brain kicked back into gear a moment later. Bucky, not James. Same man, but an entirely different person.

Bucky was clinging to a similar branch, and he pointed ahead of them to a spot where the river curved gently. "Head for the inside bank, it'll be slower water there and easier to get out."

"That's the wrong side of the river," Len protested, even as he kicked out to follow the other man, holding his log in front of him like a child with a flutterboard. "We won't be able to get back to the others."

"Better to be on the wrong side than stuck in the river until we freeze or drown," Bucky replied, and Len couldn't argue with his logic. "There's a ford a few miles further along, we'll head there as soon as we can."

After that, both of them saved their breath for swimming. Len couldn't feel his hands and feet anymore, wasn't even entirely sure he was still kicking his legs. Cold was his element, but this was far beyond his tolerance. The splashing water kept getting in his face, and it was an effort to make sure he didn't try to breathe it again.

Somehow he managed to make it to the curve. He let go of his branch to lunge for some driftwood that had lodged on the bank, but his frozen fingers didn't want to close on the water-smoothed wood. Cursing, he tried again, and snagged the next branch with his whole arm tucked around it.

Panting, he rested there for a second, gathering his strength. Hauling himself up out of the water was one of the hardest things he'd ever done, but he staggered up onto the bank, shivering violently. "Guess I'm getting served some of my own medicine," he muttered, hugging himself to try to conserve what little body heat he had left.

Splashing to his right drew his attention to Bucky, sloshing his way onto dry land. The younger man had also ditched his heavy wool jacket and boots, along with his rifle and pack. His skin was deathly pale, and his lips were faintly blue. "Medicine?" he repeated through chattering teeth.

"They call me Captain Cold because I'm known for freezing people where they stand."

"Captain Cold, huh?" Bucky sounded unimpressed by the nickname. He made his way further inland, wincing as his sock-clad feet met sharp rocks and twigs. "Is that what the weird gun does? It's a freeze ray?"

"Cold gun," Len corrected him. He followed, and his poor feet fared no better. "Damn, it's going to be a _long_ walk to that ford, and back to the group."

"Yeah, and I think we need to stop, dry off, and warm up first." Bucky didn't sound any happier about the delay than Len was. "I'm looking for any kind of shelter we can hole up in. We may have to wait for the others to come to us. My name's Bucky, by the way. Bucky Barnes. Should I call you 'Cold'?"

"What, you won't call me 'Cap'?" Len teased him. It was an old joke between him and James, one that had gotten funnier when he'd learned the assassin's identity and realized the reason behind the objection. He briefly considered giving a false name, and decided there was no point. By the time James met Len in the future, he'd have forgotten meeting him as Bucky, anyway. "My name is Leonard Snart. Len is fine. And waiting for the others sounds like a great plan to me."

Chances were good the Legends would come after Len sooner rather than later. They wouldn't want to leave him to go gallivanting around in time, after all. He'd lost his communicator somewhere in the river, so he couldn't call them, but he expected Atom or Hawk Girl would be along shortly.

Except... Len frowned. Rip had left Mick and Stein behind in the gulag, and they'd been in far worse straits than Len was now. There was every chance Rip wouldn't want to let the others come for him until the mission was over - failure or success.

Len snorted with amusement, imagining Mick and James would have a few sharp things to say to Rip about _that_ plan.

"What's so funny?" Bucky gave him a sideways glance, his expression suggesting he was concerned for Len's sanity.

"I may be slightly loopy from hypothermia," Len admitted with a wry grin. "But I was picturing the argument that is undoubtedly going on right now between our captain and my lover about whether they should finish the mission before or after coming to look for me. James has some rather strong opinions about protecting me, and is absolutely not afraid to make his point by physical means."

The double-take Bucky gave him was comical. "Wait, so James is..."

"My lover," Len confirmed, and his grin faded into a threatening frown. "Got a problem with that?" Damn it, he'd forgotten about the whole prejudice issue. Although, it would be an interesting opportunity to find out what James' younger self thought about the idea.

To Len's great relief, Bucky shook his head and held his hands up in a warding gesture. "Hey, it’s no skin off my nose. Don't think I've ever heard somebody be so open about it, is all."

Was the faint wistful tone in Bucky's voice a product of Len's imagination? Probably. 

"Over here," Bucky exclaimed, and slid down a small hill into a small depression. It looked like the river frequently overflowed its banks, and erosion had removed enough soil from around the roots of a forest giant that the tree had fallen. The result was a little hollow, which extended down under the root ball. Bucky started grabbing fallen branches, jamming one end into the ground and propping the other on the roots, creating a makeshift shelter over the depression.

Len was still dangerously cold. His feet felt like blocks of ice, which was sort of a blessing since it meant he couldn't feel the cuts and bruises the forest floor had undoubtedly left behind on his soles. He set to work helping Bucky, though his stiff fingers still didn't want to close around the wood.

After fifteen minutes or so, they had a passable shelter from possible rain, and Len had warmed up a bit from exertion. “The 'roof' is as good as it will ever be. Let's get in there." Len suited actions to words, ducking beneath the piled branches and sliding into the small hollow. There was just enough room for Bucky to settle in beside him. "I don't suppose we're going to be able to make a fire?" 

"Not unless you wanna bring HYDRA down on our heads," was the expected response. Bucky looked grim, and that blue tint hadn't left his lips yet. "It's gonna be body heat or nothing, so I hope you don't mind getting friendly." He paused, and looked nervously at Len, his eyes suddenly wide.

It wasn't hard to guess what was going through his mind. Now that he knew Len was gay, he was concerned Len would make some kind of move on him. Len gave him a smile that was sharp enough to cut, more a baring of teeth than a friendly expression. "No, I'm not going to get any ideas," he said, his tone every bit as edged as his smile. "I won’t lose control of myself and jump your bones because you're the only available male in the area."

"I said I didn't have a problem with it," Bucky protested, but he looked abashed. After a moment, he muttered, "Sorry."

"Forget about it." Len tried not to be too sour. Bucky was actually being remarkably tolerant, for a man from the forties. The problem was, that fearful reaction fed right into one of the niggling worries that had eaten at Len since he'd first realized just how fucked in the head James truly was.

There was a part of Len that worried that James was actually straight, and would remember that some day. The first time Len had slept with him, James had literally not even remembered how to kiss someone, and his reactions to pleasure were so intense Len knew it might as well have been the first time the man had ever had sex.

HYDRA had taken everything from James, including such a basic part of his being as his sexuality. It was possible that he'd simply been reacting to the shock of physical gratification, the impact of a sexual touch when he hadn't even remembered the concept of masturbation, and hadn't felt pleasure in seventy years.

If so, there was a chance that someday James would encounter a woman he was attracted to, and realize the difference between that, and what he felt for Len. It was only a small part of Len that worried about the matter, but it was a fear he'd never quite been able to lay to rest.

Now here was his chance to find out once and for all whether Bucky Barnes had been bi, or if James' relationship with Len was an aberration. But how the hell was he supposed to ask without getting punched for it? Flirt with him and see if he reacted to the interest?

That would be a betrayal of James. Never mind that Bucky _was_ James. Len knew his lover would view it as Len cheating on him. Hell, even Len couldn't help but see it that way. Bucky was so damn different from his future self, it was impossible to think of them as the same person.

There was an awkward silence as they huddled close, each of them trying desperately to soak up any tiny bit of warmth from the other. After a few moments, Len gave an exasperated sigh and slipped his arm around Bucky's shoulders, allowing them to get closer. "No, I'm not making a move on you," he said, just in case. 

Bucky chuckled, a sound that came out oddly through chattering teeth. "Here I was wondering if you'd take it the wrong way if I suggested we get out of most of these wet clothes. Or, y'know, if your fella would be offended."

"If I had a girlfriend back home, would you be worried about _her_ being offended?" Len asked. "Enough to make you hesitate to suggest something that might save our lives?"

"Depends on the girl." Bucky gave him a wry grin. "If 'James' is the guy with all the metal, that tried to save us? He's not somebody I'd want mad at me."

Despite himself, Len barked a laugh. "You're right about that. But if I was stupid enough to cheat on him, he wouldn't take it out on you. He'd cut my dick off, and probably serve it up with my balls for good measure." Bucky gave him another wide-eyed look, this one entirely due to shock. Len grinned back at him. "Of course, if he ever dared to touch anyone else, I'd freeze his family jewels until they shattered. Luckily, neither of us is the cheating type."

"Fair enough." Bucky sat up enough to strip out of two layers of sweaters. He had a sleeveless undershirt beneath that he left on, but his chest was bare enough to see the details.

It was odd to see flesh instead of metal on Bucky's left arm and shoulder. Odder still to glimpse smooth, unscarred skin. Oh, not completely untouched. The man was fighting a war, after all, and he'd clearly picked up a few injuries along the way. But the massive scarring around his left shoulder, where HYDRA had fused the metal plates into his flesh, was missing.

The strangest thing of all was how... ordinary the man looked. Bucky was in good shape, as anyone in the Army would be when living in constant combat. A bit underfed, probably a result of short rations, but his muscle tone would be envy-worthy to most people. 

_Not_ compared to James, however. His future self was absolutely shredded, with sharply-defined muscles that rippled beneath his skin. Presumably a side-effect of the supersoldier serum, but Len didn't care _why_ the man was ripped. He simply adored getting to play with all that hard, sculpted flesh.

He didn't realize he was staring until a flush swept over Bucky's cheeks, standing out against the pale skin. The other man looked uncomfortable. "Yeah, I know. Not as pretty to look at as I used to be." His hand rose to cover one of the worst scars, a deep line that crept over the top of his left shoulder. 

Len had never seen that part of it before, but he could tell it must be connected to a long, thin scar that sliced diagonally over James' back. On James the scar was old and faint, but on Bucky it was still red enough that it couldn't be more than a year old.

It took a second for Len to realize he must have been frowning or looked disapproving, making the mental comparison and finding Bucky wanting. Bucky had taken it as disdain for the scars. Len shook his head. "Sorry. It's not that I was failing to admire the view. The... scars reminded me of some that James has, and I was thinking about him."

Close enough to the truth to pass muster. The explanation seemed to work, because Bucky relaxed and dropped his hand again. "I was held in a HYDRA labour camp for a few months," he explained. "All the Commandos were, that's where Steve rescued us from. They weren't exactly gentle about forcing us to work."

The admission caught Len by surprise. He'd known from his research into James' past that the Howling Commandos had been formed after being rescued by Steve Rogers from HYDRA. Len had assumed that James hadn't been part of that group, that he was a Commando by dint of being Rogers' best friend.

But James had made a few off the cuff comments about Rogers coming to rescue him at some point during the war, now that Len thought about it. Which made his second capture and torture all the worse, because it would have been returning to a nightmare for him. At least, until they'd broken his mind so thoroughly that the Winter Soldier no longer remembered any part of his past.

Conscious of the fact that Bucky would be facing that very horror before the year was out, Len cleared his throat and searched for something to say. "Don't ever be ashamed of your scars. They're a badge of survival, proof that you're stronger than whatever tried to break you."

He realized he was parroting the very words that James had said to Len, seeing _his_ scars for the first time. Len had been so ashamed of the marks his father had left on his body as a child, even though he'd told himself that he only cared because of the pitying looks people gave him.

James had made Len feel whole again in so many ways, and the issue of his scars was not least among them. Strange to have come full circle.

In fact... making a split-second decision that would have been unthinkable to him a year ago, Len peeled off his own sweater and the thin Henley shirt beneath. The clothes were clammy and uncomfortable, and they _did_ need to share the heat - but torture wouldn't have forced Len to bare his scars so easily to any other man.

Bucky's eyes widened, and he whistled. "Fuck. Guess you've done some surviving of your own. I like that way of thinking about it. You're damn right."

Not a word about the fact that most of Len's scars were old and stretched, marks clearly gained in childhood, not as an adult. No hint of pity in Bucky's eyes, only respect. Len was incredibly grateful. His head knew it would be unreasonable of him to blame James for his younger self reacting badly to Len's scars, but his heart might have felt differently.

They huddled closer together. Len assumed he would need to take the less dominant position, tucking himself under Bucky's arm, to make the other man feel better about cuddling up to another male.

Instead, somewhat to his surprise, Bucky didn't hesitate to make contact, curling up under Len's arm and shifting close. It _did_ make sense, Bucky being several inches shorter than Len. The position felt odd though, since James was usually the one holding Len, shorter or not.

Also odd was how cool Bucky remained against him, even accounting for the fact that they were both badly chilled. It worried Len, thinking the other man might be in real danger of hypothermia, until he realized what was really happening. 

The serum that made James a supersoldier had given him a greatly enhanced metabolism. One side effect of that was increased body heat, turning Len's lover into a living furnace. Much though he hated being too warm, Len had gotten used to it and even come to enjoy it, once he set his thermostat lower at night.

Bucky, of course, had never received that serum. He had a perfectly normal body temperature, but since James was the only person Len was used to being skin-to-skin against, it registered as weird to Len.

Slowly they began to warm up, clinging closer still as their shivers finally eased. At some point after their teeth stopped chattering, Bucky glanced up at Len. "I don't suppose you're gonna tell me anything about that weird team of yours, huh?"

"Perceptive of you." Len gave him a sharp-edged smile. "It's classified."

"Figured." Bucky was clearly unhappy about being left out of the loop, but seemed less upset than Len had expected. In the same circumstance, James would have been demanding answers, and quite willing to use some force to get them if he felt it was necessary.

Bucky wasn't _entirely_ willing to let it lie, however. "Just tell me this much. Is this something we need to worry about HYDRA getting their hands on and using against us? The Red Skull is bad enough. I do _not_ wanting to be facing something like your flying fire guy across a battlefield."

That was a reasonable question. "Definitely not. Once-in-a-lifetimes circumstances that were very much accidental, and unrepeatable. As for the tech..." He hesitated, searching for a good way to put it. The tech was out of HYDRA's grasp for the simple reason that the physics behind it wouldn't be properly understood for decades, but he couldn't exactly tell Bucky that.

And they'd already had one incident of Raymond leaving a microchip behind and unintentionally advancing historic science in drastic ways, so he couldn't even promise there was no chance HYDRA would get their hands on it.

Thankfully Bucky seemed willing to supply his own answer for that issue. "HYDRA's already pursuing their own avenue of advanced weaponry. Zola's too proud of his own brilliance to look at someone else's work for inspiration. As long as they've got the Tesseract, they won't bother with anything else."

Len had no idea what a Tesseract was. He'd thought he'd learned pretty much all there was to know about the battles between the Howling Commandos and HYDRA's forces, but apparently some things had been left out of the history books. He'd have to ask James about it later - assuming his lover remembered the details.

"We should get some rest," he suggested, suiting actions to words by closing his eyes and snuggling in closer. "Either they'll find us by the time we wake, or our clothes will be dry and we can make our way back to them as best we can. Here's hoping for the former." He didn't really want to have to walk any distance without shoes.

"Sleep well, I guess." Bucky turned his head into Len's shoulder, using it as a pillow. "As well as we can, anyway."

As sleep crept over him, Len drifted off to an odd thought. This meant that the first time Len had slept with James was not the first time 'James' had slept with Len.


	7. Chapter 7

"All right, listen up." Steve stood at the edge of the clearing, hands on his hips, surveying the mingled Commandos and Legends. "HYDRA's incoming. You lot got some of my people injured, lost the sniper we needed for this ambush, _and_ alerted them to our presence here. Instead of a quick, clean job, this just became a knock-down, drag-out fight. Since you're responsible, you have now volunteered to help us clean them out."

"Absolutely not." Hunter stood facing him, slender as a reed against Steve's solid strength, but not one bit less stubborn. "I'm sorry, Captain, but our mission takes precedence. I cannot allow..."

"Shut the fuck up, Hunter," James snarled. The distortion of the mask made the growl sound even more menacing than usual. "Rogers is right, this is our mess and we need to clean it up. Unless you want HYDRA winning this fight?"

It was difficult to lock gazes with someone when wearing opaque goggles, but James and Hunter managed it for a brief moment. James couldn't say more without giving away something suspicious about who they really were, but he knew Hunter heard the message. The man was obsessed with stopping Savage, but there was enough of the Time Master left in him to flinch from the idea of changing history by having the Commandos defeated.

Hunter grimaced and backed down. "Yes, very well. At this point I suppose it will go more quickly for all of us to be involved, regardless."

Satisfied that he'd won, Steve nodded at them. "This is my mission, so you're under my command. I don't know exactly what you lot are all capable of, but you seem competent enough, and any damage you do to HYDRA can only be a good thing. Try not to get caught in the crossfire."

"Why the hell are we listening to him?" Rory demanded, his voice a dangerous rumble and his finger tight on the trigger of his heat gun. "Fuck this shit, I'm going after Snart. C'mon, Jimmy."

"Not yet." It physically pained James to say the words. "We can't leave a HYDRA force this big at our backs. If they get through the Commandos, they'll come after us next."

"The hell?" Rory stared at him, incensed. "I thought you hated the Avengers, anyway!"

There was no point in reminding Rory that the Avengers didn't exist yet. Either he was too dumb to understand, or he was playing too dumb to understand. As usual where the big man was concerned, James honestly wasn't sure which was the case, but both options meant arguing about it would be a waste of breath.

"Nazis first, then rescue," James told him, firm. "An hour or two's not gonna make a difference to Len. We'll be hours searching for him anyway." It was already too late for them to do anything about the possibility of Len drowning. Once out of the river, the man could handle himself for the time it would take James and Rory to find him.

Rory growled, that deep rumbling sound he made when he was truly unhappy, but turned his attention in the direction of the oncoming convoy. "Fine. I fucking hate Nazis. Let's burn them."

"Sounds good to me." James slung his rifle over his shoulder. "Canary, grab one of the Commandos' sniper rifles and head left, we'll set up a crossfire and pick them off. Firestorm, you should be able to handle the tanks. Atom, you're damaged, so stay here and guard the wounded. Everyone else, do whatever damage you can to the foot troops. _Move_."

Trying to organize the Legends into following a coherent battle plan was a lot like trying to herd cats, but over the last several missions they had all come to acknowledge that James knew what the fuck he was doing when it came to tactics. Even Hunter had stopped protesting when James hijacked his authority. 

It meant they would at least _start out_ doing what he told them. How long that lasted was always in question.

As they'd expected, HYDRA came in hot and heavy, aware they were out there. The two tanks crashed through the woods one after the other, firing as rapidly as their gun crews could manage. The Panzer V out front was bad news all on its own, but behind it was one of the massive uber-tanks designed by Zola, with its enormous main gun, multiple other mounted artillery, and armour no bullet or bomb could hope to penetrate.

Firestorm whistled, low and impressed. "Now _that_ is what I call a tank. We got this!"

He swooped in from on high, circling around the uber-tank too fast for its guns to swivel. James forced his attention away from it and the Panzer, knowing there wasn't a damn thing he and his rifle could do to help with that battle.

Instead he focused on the infantry pouring in behind the tanks. From the perch he'd taken high up a nearby tree, lying flat along the branch with his rifle propped before him, James zeroed in on the closest visible head...

And froze, finger on the trigger, unable to force it to close the last fraction of an inch.

Heart pounding wildly, James struggled against himself. One of the harshest commands HYDRA had driven into the Winter Soldier, over and over again, was that he must _never harm a HYDRA agent_. They'd reinforced that command by every painful, agonizing means they had at their disposal, and that was quite the list.

If the men had been wearing Nazi uniforms like the first set of ambush troops, James could probably have fooled himself into taking the shot without too much trouble. But this was late enough in the war that Schmidt had long since bitten the hand that fed him, declaring HYDRA separate from the Fuhrer's forces. There was no mistaking the man in James' crosshairs as anything but HYDRA.

Even thinking about pulling the trigger caused unimaginable pain to spike through James' mind. It felt like someone had shoved an icepick through his skull, digging around inside his brain for the most sensitive spots. Every muscle locked up in anticipation of coming agony - electroshock punishments had been one of Zola's favourite disciplinary measures in this time period, and his body remembered all too well.

The man he'd been sighting on went down in flames, screaming as he tried to beat out the fires started by the blast from Heat Wave's gun. For the briefest instant James was released from the mental torture, managed to control his body long enough to shift targets, then locked up again to start the battle anew.

Breathing hard, sweating all over, he fought to shift the trigger that last, tiny increment. Through the roaring in his ears he could hear the others shouting over the comms, but couldn't make out anything they said. 

Firestorm dove in the instant after the uber-tank fired. He slam-dunked a fireball of his own down the barrel, blowing up the new round as it was loaded into the chamber. The resulting explosion inside rocked the tank on its giant treads, and all the guns stopped moving or firing. The crew was dead, or close enough, taking the squadron's biggest weapon out of the fight.

The Panzer retaliated by swiveling its gun and aiming, not at the enemy, but at the mine-seeded meadow. Realizing what they intended, James swore and rolled off the branch, trying to get the big, sturdy trunk of the tree between him and the field. "Cover!" he shouted at the top of his lungs.

The Commandos all dropped instantly, as did Hunter. Steve dove in front of the wounded and hunched over them, with his shield toward the minefield. Across the way, Sara hid behind her tree was well. The rest of the Legends either looked around in confusion or continued fighting as if they hadn't heard him, or more likely hadn't understood what he'd said.

The Panzer's shell hit the meadow dead center, setting off every mine in the field in a rippling outward wave. The concussive force of it made James' tree groan, crack, and topple slowly onto him. He barely rolled out of the way in time, and was forced to leave his rifle behind to be pinned beneath it. The heat from the blast was scorching, stealing the breath from his lungs and soaking into his metal arm until it burned at the shoulder where the flesh touched.

Startled and pained cries from around the field said it wasn't only the Allied forces who'd been hurt. The Panzer had sacrificed their own infantry troops, pinned between the minefield and the bulk of their tanks, unable to retreat in time to avoid the blast. Typical HYDRA - death before risk of capture, once they knew the fight was lost, and take as many of the enemy with them as possible.

Firestorm blew up the Panzer a moment later, metal fragments flying like giant pieces of shrapnel. James cautiously raised his head to get a better look, and saw there wasn't enough left of the uber-tank to worry about. The few surviving HYDRA troops were in full retreat, leaving their dead and wounded behind as they scrambled to get away from the terror of the flying, fiery enemy who had decimated their most powerful weapons in the space of a few scant heartbeats.

Breathing hard, still struggling against a compulsion to go aide the HYDRA forces in their retreat, James hauled himself to his feet and did a quick injury check. His ears rang from the explosion, but hearing was already returning. His right shoulder was still a mess, but it had been healed enough for the hand to function while he was up in the tree, so he dismissed it for now. There was a bloody gouge out of his left thigh, camo pants ripped and stained around the injury, but it wasn't deep enough to slow him down significantly.

Satisfied he was in no immediate danger, James turned to see how the rest of his allies had fared. He fully expected to see multiple people dead or dying. That blast had been devastating, and the majority of the Legends hadn't known how to avoid it.

To his surprise and relief, everyone seemed to be picking themselves up, more or less intact. Those who'd thrown themselves down looked stunned but mostly unharmed. Rory had suffered some burns, but nothing serious enough to do more than piss him off, accustomed as he was to dealing with fire-related injuries. 

Lance had taken a nasty tumble from her tree, and like him was battered and bloody but in no apparent danger of immediate death. Palmer’s suit was now thoroughly damaged, but it seemed to have protected him from any personal harm. Those already hurt were no worse off than they'd been before the blast, and Steve...

James' breath hissed out between his teeth as he saw the blood soaking into Steve’s uniform. Intent on protecting the wounded, Steve hadn't been able to fully tuck himself behind his shield, and as a result he'd taken some nasty shrapnel. One metal piece was still lodged in his shoulder, dangerously close to his neck, while another protruded from his calf. 

Beneath the cowl, Steve was whey-faced and sweating hard, teeth clenched against a grimace of pain. It was just as well that HYDRA was in retreat, because Captain America was in no shape to handle them at the moment.

Instinct and training took over before James could think better of it. He started snapping out orders. "Jones. Dernier. Set up a perimeter, make sure none of the HYDRA troops get the bright idea to double back and try to hit us while we're down. Firestorm, cover them, but stay beneath the treeline and try to avoid drawing any further attention. Anyone who's bloody, sit the hell down before you fall over. Everyone else, break out the med kits and supplies and start helping the wounded. Falsworth, with me."

There was a tense moment of hesitation, uncertain looks traded among the Commandos, before Steve nodded and they hopped to. James grimaced as he approached Steve, realizing his mistake. In some part of his subconscious, he was still the man who had been Captain America's second in command. It had been his job to take charge when the team was split, or in the event that anything incapacitated Steve. But of course, as far as the Commandos were concerned, James was a stranger who had no right to order them around.

Steve had a sharp look in his eyes as he weighed James' actions through the lens of suspicion. "Should I bother asking how you know the names of all my men, or assume you'll refuse to tell me?"

That one, at least, was easy to handle. James snorted and crouched down in front of his old friend, leaning in to get a better look at the shrapnel in Steve's shoulder. "You're the Howling Commandos. Is there anyone in America who doesn't know your names?"

Falsworth, the de facto medic for the team, came running up a moment later with a familiar metal box, branded with a red Caduceus to indicate it was a first aid kit. He skidded to a halt and dropped to his knees on the opposite side of Steve from James. "Captain. How bad is it?"

"Pretty sure I'll live, but it stings like a..." Steve's eyes darted to Saunders and Lance. He cleared his throat, a light dusting of pink brightening the pale skin of his cheeks. "It hurts a bit."

James had forgotten that about him, the way Steve refused to swear if strangers might be listening. He could and _did_ swear, he was a soldier like the rest of them, though he'd managed to keep his language cleaner than most even among intimate friends. But he was always so painfully aware of his identity as Captain America, and the fact that he was a role model and morale boost intended to showcase the best that the American Army had to offer.

"It's not too close to the carotid," James judged, glancing at Falsworth. "Should be safe to pull out, if you've got a bandage ready."

Falsworth nodded, both agreement of James' assessment and an indication that he was ready for what came next. Gripping the shrapnel carefully, James withdrew it fast but gentle, keeping it as straight and steady as he could to avoid doing further damage on the way out. Thankfully the edges proved to be clean, not jagged. 

Falsworth slapped a bandage pad on the injury the moment the metal was clear, staunching the sudden spurt of blood. James shifted his grip to provide pressure on the pad, while Falsworth wrapped bandaging around Steve's chest to hold it in place. 

"Next one." James moved on to the smaller piece in Steve's calf, ignoring the way his friend was struggling to keep his breathing steady. Steve hated showing pain and weakness to strangers, and at the moment, James very much counted as one. That caused its own kind of pain for James, but all he could do was pretend not to notice and let his friend keep his dignity. 

Unfortunately the second piece was ragged at the edges, and did more damage coming out than it probably had going in. Steve couldn't quite swallow a grunt of pain, but James ignored that too, as he and Falsworth worked to get the second wound bandaged.

When they were done, James rocked back on his heels and surveyed the hasty patch job. It was messy and unsanitary, but Steve was resistant to infection and the other injured would likely need the limited supply of antiseptic more. A normal man would have been in danger of bleeding out from wounds like that, but Steve would clot and heal far faster than the average human. It would be good enough to get him back to the temporary camp, where Falsworth could do a better job.

It was far from the first time Steve had been hurt on a mission, and wouldn't be the last, if James' memory was correct. The problem was that it shouldn't have happened right now. None of the Commandos should be injured, and Bucky definitely shouldn't be MIA. If he recalled correctly, after taking out this supply convoy, the Commandos had planned to clean out the nearby HYDRA base. That operation was now going to be delayed by at least several days, if not a week or more.

What domino effects might that have down the line? James couldn't remember enough to be able to guess. Gideon would be able to tell, but there was no easy way to ask her at the moment. Presumably if it was going to cause such a disruption that they'd lose the war or otherwise completely fuck up the timeline, she'd have alerted Hunter already.

Standing, James held his left hand down toward Steve, offering assistance. Without hesitation Steve gripped his forearm and let James lever him to his feet. Once there he paused, not letting go, and looked at James speculatively. “This is some armour you’ve got. I’ve never seen metal move like your arm does, and it didn’t even take a dent in that blast.”

“It’s not vibranium,” James answered the question the other man was _really_ asking. As much as HYDRA would have killed to get their hands on some of the precious metal, they had never possessed any that James was aware of. Whatever Cisco Ramon had made this arm out of, however, was the next best thing. “High-tech alloy. Almost as...”

A sharp crack in the distance cut through the air, and James’ cheek burned with a line of fire that painted itself across the skin. Something thunked into the tree beside Steve, right at his head height, sending wood chips spraying everywhere.

Unlike Steve, James didn’t need a split second to actually process what was happening. The Winter Soldier knew a sniper’s shot when he saw one. Without thinking, James tackled Steve to the ground as a second shot rang out, echoing from the trees.

This time it wasn’t a line of fire - it was a crashing tidal wave sweeping over James, stealing his breath and making his heart stutter in his chest at the agony. The pain started in his back, just under the left shoulder blade and inches from the spine, but from there it spread in sharp, stabbing spears.

Air suddenly seemed to be in short supply. James had been trained to continue to fight through pain, had experienced more agony in one month of HYDRA’s care than a normal person could imagine going through in a lifetime. Yet he couldn’t seem to make his body work, couldn’t force himself to move or breathe or do _anything_ at all.

In the wake of the agony came a rush of blackness, sucking James down into it with the force of a riptide. The last thing he saw was Steve’s panicked expression as the other man shouted something at him that never made it to James’ ears.

Then there was only blackness.


	8. Chapter 8

Between the bitter cold and the incredibly uncomfortable position, Len wasn’t able to do more than doze in short stretches. Having Bucky in his arms didn't help, either. Over the course of his relationship with James, Len had slowly grown accustomed to sleeping in close proximity, even contact, with another person, but it was still very much only James who had that privilege and right.

Bucky was _not_ James, even though he was, in fact, James.

And that thought was a perfect example of the fact that Len needed to get some real sleep, but it simply wasn't going to happen. Len did his best not to shift around and wake his companion. Bucky somehow managed to sleep, though he was restless in it, muscles tense and sometimes shivering or twitching in response to whatever nightmares haunted him.

The familiarity of that surprised Len. James had utterly horrific nightmares, thanks to decades in HYDRA's tender care, but Len had expected Bucky's sleep would be less troubled.

Then again, the man was a soldier in one of the worst wars in history. He'd already been in HYDRA's grasp once, and it probably hadn't been a pleasant experience the first time, either. Undoubtedly, he'd seen and done more horrific things than most people in Len's time would ever dream of.

Not sure if comfort would be welcome, or if the same tactics that worked on James would even help Bucky, Len gently cupped his hand around the back of the other man's head. "Shh," he murmured, voice so low as to be almost soundless. "You're safe. They'll never have you again."

It was a lie, but it seemed to work. Bucky muttered something unintelligible and shifted so his face was hidden against Len's shoulder, then subsided into a more restful sleep.

A sudden sharp stab of jealousy pierced Len. If Bucky _was_ used to receiving comfort from his nightmares, who was providing it? That woman, Agent Carter? Maybe even Steve Rogers, himself? Bucky hadn't reacted negatively to the masculine voice, after all. Had there been more going on between the best friends than James remembered?

Rogers had said no, that Bucky didn't look at men that way - but what if the man had been lying to cover his own ass?

Christ, Len was going to drive himself crazy. This kind of shit was _exactly_ why he'd never let himself get attached to anyone other than Lisa and Mick. Caring about somebody meant being vulnerable. Meant that person could _hurt_ you, or be used to hurt you. 

It wasn't disloyal of James to have had relationships _before_ he met Len. Yet the burn of acid ate at his heart, squeezing his chest tight until it was hard to get a breath, and he raged at himself for his own idiocy. 

And, if he was being honest, there was fear tangled among the jealousy, cold fingers sliding into Len's heart through the holes the acid wore into his emotional armour. Bad enough if this had been a normal sort of 'meeting up with an ex-lover in an intense situation' drama playing out. But these were people, relationships, that had _not_ ended for any normal reason.

No, they'd been torn away from James, literally ripped from his mind until he didn't remember the people he'd loved. Now he was being reminded in an incredibly intense way, and presented with the chance to mend those tears in his heart.

What if he took the chance? What if that lure was too much to resist, in the end? James had admitted how close he was to making that fateful decision.

By the time the sky began to lighten and a chorus of raucous birdsong greeted the dawn, Len was half out of his mind with jealousy and worry. Bucky stirred as the birds chirped, lifting sleep-dazed eyes to Len and blinking in the most adorable way.

"Oh, hey." The greeting was mumbled around a yawn, as Bucky pushed himself up to a sitting position and knuckled sleep from his eyes. His movements were stiff and slow, arguing he was suffering from the same aching, cramped muscles as Len, and much the worse for wear after their icy dunk the day before.

"Hey, yourself." Len's voice was gruff. He was trying very hard not to take his ire out on Bucky, who truly was not at fault for any issues that might lie between Len and his lover. "So now we face an interesting question. Do we stay here and wait to be rescued, and hope we don't freeze or starve to death in the meantime? Or do we shred our feet stumbling around in unfamiliar territory, with no weapons or means of defending ourselves if we come across the enemy?"

Bucky sighed, and managed a crooked grin that Len had never seen on James before. "Well, on the one hand, my feet are so frozen I probably wouldn't feel the rocks and sticks, so that would make walking a bit easier. On the other hand, I'd kinda like to not die of a horrible infection that could have been avoided, or run head first into HYDRA forces. Steve and the others have gotta be looking for us by now, so I vote for staying here."

"There's still the starvation issue," Len pointed out. He hadn't eaten anything since breakfast the day before, and it felt like his stomach was wrapped around his spine in protest. Hardly the first time in his life he'd gone a day without food, but he was a bit ashamed to realize how soft he'd gotten in the last decade or two. He'd been successful enough as a thief that he'd been able to indulge in some easy living, and it showed.

"I can set out some snares. There's plenty of rabbits and squirrels in the area, we should be able to catch something." Bucky started clambering awkwardly out of their hole. "At least here we've got fresh water in the river. Too bad I lost my pack, I had some k-rations in there."

"You said we couldn't build a fire, though." Len followed him out, gritting his teeth against a groan as sore muscles violently protested the movement. Maybe he should offer to exchange backrubs? Yeah, because _that_ would go over well with James, when they found each other again.

Bucky's grin turned even more warped, until it more closely resembled the grim smile James sometimes sported when something struck him as morbidly funny. "You obviously ain't been out in the field very long. Won't be the first time I've been desperate enough to eat raw rabbit. Probably won't be the last."

The thought made Len's lip curl. "We're not desperate _yet_. A day without food won't kill us."

"Hey, you're the one who said you were hungry." 

They broke through the trees and found themselves back at the river, far sooner than Len had expected. They must have been travelling at least somewhat parallel to it after they crawled out the day before. Realizing how thirsty he was, Len knelt at the edge of the bank and leaned over to scoop the clear, cold water into his mouth.

God, he hoped this was sanitary. Hadn't there been chemical warfare in World War 2? Would the enemy have dumped anything into the water supply? No, this was enemy territory, they wouldn't pollute their _own_ water.

Unless the Allies had done it, of course. Too late to worry about it now. Bucky was drinking too, so probably it was safe.

They broke apart briefly to take care of personal needs, then met up at the water again. Bucky extended one closed fist to Len, as if offering something. Raising an eyebrow, Len held out his palm in return, and Bucky dumped a handful of what looked like hazelnuts into Len's hand.

"Figured that'd be a bit more edible," Bucky laughed at Len's surprised expression. "It's late in the year for them, but we're in luck, I found a little grove and there's still some on ground that aren't rotten. Won't hold us long, but it's better than nothing."

"And definitely better than raw rabbit," Len agreed. "Let's go nut hunting, then. Not like we've got anything better to do."

They passed the next hour or so in quiet companionship, hunting out still-edible nuts, then sitting huddled together to crack and shell the tiny morsels before popping them into their mouths. The wild nuts had a sharper taste than Len was used to, but it wasn't unpleasant. 

"How the hell are they going to find us, though?" Len asked at one point, frowning at the far bank. "I mean, we're deliberately keeping a low profile so the enemy doesn't stumble over us, but it's not like our guys are going to be walking around shouting our names."

Actually, on second thought, he absolutely wouldn't put that past some of the Legends. Including Mick. But James wasn't that dumb, and there was not a doubt in Len's mind that his lover would be heading the search.

"Why do you think we're hanging out by the river?" Bucky replied, tossing a rock and watching it skip twice before sinking. He made a face. "Water's moving too fast to do that right. Oh well. The others will be searching along the waterline for any sign of where we came out. Even if they're on the other side, we'll see them from here."

"Smart." It was exactly the kind of tactical thinking he expected from James, yet somehow it surprised him to hear it so casually from Bucky. Len realized he'd somehow fallen into the notion that because Bucky hadn't been the Winter Soldier yet, he’d be incompetent. Maybe even a bit stupid.

Of course that wasn't the case. Bucky still had the same sharp mind as James, just less experience. There was so much Len didn't know about this man. "Tell me about yourself," he said on impulse. 

"Me? Not much to tell, really." Bucky laughed. "Steve's the interesting one. Usually people are asking me for stories about Captain America, not myself."

The words should have sounded self-deprecating, but there was not a hint of resentment or jealousy in Bucky's tone. If anything, he sounded proud of his friend.

"I know plenty about Captain America," Len waved that off. "He's a household name. But you're the one I'm cuddling up to here, so I feel like I ought to get to know _you_." He paused, and some imp of the perverse made him add, "Got a girl back home pining for you?"

"Me? Nah." The denial was casual and immediate. Bucky pulled one knee up to his chest and hooked an elbow over it, staring out over the water. "I like to dance and flirt, but I never found the right girl to settle down with. I'm kinda glad now, y'know? I feel bad for the fellas who have gals waiting for them back home - or worse, wives and kids."

Was there any way Len could ask about Carter without giving himself away? It had sure _seemed_ like there was an intimate, personal relationship between the two of them. "What about the girls in camp? Nobody caught your eye?"

Bucky gave him an odd, sideways look. "What the hell base camp does your team work out of, and can I sign on? The only dame for miles around the 107th base is Agent Carter, and she's... not up for grabs."

Damn it, the sly curve of Bucky's lips when he said that was not reassuring Len. "Why, she married? Ugly? Old?" He knew perfectly well she didn't fit the last two, but he was fishing.

"Young and gorgeous, and no ring on her finger," Bucky replied with a laugh. "It's not that I wouldn't _try_. Made a play for her once and she shut me down but good. She ain't the type to play around, and she knew that was all I was interested in."

Len frowned. None of this jived with what he'd seen between James and the woman at the camp. "You talk like you're pretty close to her, though. Sure you don't have a crush?"

"She's one of us." The simple statement carried the ring of truth, and the force Bucky put behind it was intense. "The brass may not want to admit it to the world, but Carter _is_ a Commando. We'd be dead a dozen times over if not for her intel and experience. Doesn't matter who she's dating, she _earned_ her place with us, and don't you ever doubt it."

The fierceness was surprising, as if Bucky thought he had to defend the woman. Then again, given the attitude toward women in this time period, maybe most guys asking would have been making the obvious lewd assumptions. That last statement in particular, that it didn't matter who she was dating...

Everything fell into place, and Len felt like an idiot. "She's an item with Rogers, isn't she?" Of course Bucky would be close to the woman his best friend was in love with. Len's jealousy was all for nothing.

Scowling, Bucky turned on him. "I told you..."

"She's earned her place, I heard you." Len waved him off. "Did you not see the people I was working with? Kendra may not look like much, but she's tougher than you'd think. And if Sara ever thought for one moment I was assuming the worst of a female fighter, she'd cut my balls off and feed them to me. Probably wouldn't even break a sweat doing it."

Bucky hesitated for a moment, apparently thinking it over, before he decided to be mollified. "Sara's the blond?" he asked, and Len nodded. "Yeah, I didn't get a good look, but she _moves_ like she knows what the hell she's doing. Does she catch the same kinda flak as Carter? People thinking she's just there as a bed toy for the commander, or worse, sleeping around with the whole team?"

"If so, nobody's ever dared say it to her face," Len drawled, grinning at the mental image. "I wasn't kidding about her castrating me. She was one of the world's most dangerous assassins before she joined our team, and she loves her knives."

"Huh." Bucky looked thoughtful. "Whaddya know. Bet Peggy would love to meet her. Yeah, she and Steve are a thing - or will be, when the war's over. They're still fooling themselves that they're waiting for 'after', but the rest of us know they're crazy about each other. It's just, other guys..."

"Don't show the respect she deserves." Len nodded. "I get it. Nobody will hear confirmation from me."

Knowing what he did, that Rogers would be lost in the war and presumed killed in action, made the tale one of bittersweet sorrow. Len snorted to himself. That was what people got for waiting around for good things to come their way. He'd much rather go out and steal what he wanted, enjoy himself as much as possible.

Never mind that it had very nearly taken an act of god for him to admit that what he _really_ wanted was James.

The sun was high in the sky now, and the air had warmed up considerably. Len still couldn't feel his feet, but the chilled skin showed no signs of actual frostbite, so hopefully there would be no lasting damage. What worried him was the fact that there had still been no sign of searchers. "How far down river did we end up, do you suppose?"

"A long way." Bucky sounded glum, as he tried to skip another rock. "They probably wouldn't have tried to track us at night for fear of missing us, but I expected them to have found us by now."

Len doubted very much that James would have let a little thing like the dark slow him down. The man saw nearly as well in twilight conditions as Len did in full daylight. Though perhaps tracking would be more difficult, even for him. And he might have had others slowing him down.

Another hour or so had gone by, when there was a sudden explosion of birds out of the trees in the distance upriver. Bucky sat up, eyeing the swirling flock. "Somebody's passing through there."

"Chances it's our people?" Len pushed to his feet, wobbling a bit as his sore soles protested the weight. 

Bucky did the same, clinging to a tree trunk to help himself up. "It's not the Commandos, or not only us, I can tell you that. We know better than to disturb the wildlife that much in enemy territory, it gives our position away. To scare that many of them at once... maybe a tank? Or somebody firing? I didn't hear a shot, though."

"Well, your team may know better, but mine aren't exactly famous for their subtlety," Len said, mouth twisting in a wry smile. 

Glancing at him, Bucky returned the smile. "Yeah, I noticed that. I suppose your fire guy or the one in the weird armour might have disturbed them like that."

Len's right hand closed over empty air at his hip, and he cursed as he remembered he'd lost the cold gun. _Maybe_ it was his bumbling teammates out there, but maybe it wasn't. "Do we try to get closer and see? If it is our people, I'd hate for them to walk right by us."

"Whoever it is, looks like they're coming downriver toward us. I say we back off to our shelter, and wait to see who passes." Bucky drew a sturdy knife with a wicked point and held it in a decent fighting grip, suggesting he had some idea what he was doing with it. Len didn't see any sign of a gun on him, so he must have lost his in the river as well.

Together they made their way back through the trees, taking the shorter route to their makeshift lean-to. Len gave it a critical once-over, and didn't much like what he saw. Granted the thick trees hid it unless you were up close, but then it was glaringly obvious. Branches didn't naturally pile up like that.

"New plan," Len declared, turning to a thick tree that had low branches. Grabbing the first, he hauled himself up onto it. "Climb a tree, stay out of sight, and hope that when the enemy finds the shelter, they assume we've long-since left the area."

"Yeah, not a bad idea. Damn, I wish I had my rifle." Sheathing the knife again, Bucky started climbing a different tree, scrambling up the branches as easily as if they were a ladder. It was clear he'd done so many times before.

Len was less graceful, but he got himself high enough to be above a person's natural sight line. Swinging one leg over a sturdy branch, he settled into a 'V' perch that would hold him comfortably.

By that time, he could hear the tramp of boots over rock and snapping twigs in the near distance. Voices came a moment later, at first too hushed to make out any words. Len strained to hear, but didn't catch any familiar voices.

Then somebody raised their volume a bit too loud, and Len clearly heard a foreign language. He knew a little Italian thanks to his long association with the various mob Families in Central, and this didn't sound like anything he knew. German, if he had to guess.

German in this area probably meant HYDRA. Cursing silently, Len tried to do the motionless statue impression he'd so often seen James pull off. The sniper had told him that even tiny motions could draw a target's eyes, without them consciously realizing what they were seeing.

Three trees away, Bucky was doing the same. He'd sprawled belly-down along the length of his branch, feet braced against the trunk on either side. He wasn't yet as good at total stillness as James, but he did it better than Len. He'd obviously heard the voices too, because his eyes were trained in the direction of the oncoming enemy, and his expression was grim.

Both of them knew that if HYDRA _did_ find them, there was nothing they could really do to fight back. One knife between the two of them was not sufficient weaponry. Cold, stiff, and bootless as they were, they couldn't hope to outrun pursuit. All they could do was pray not to be found in the search.

And it was clear that HYDRA _was_ searching for something. They weren't following the river because it was easier or for access to water - they were spread out through the trees, moving in a wide line, eyes darting around like they were expecting an ambush.

Why would the enemy be searching for them, though? Could it possibly be a coincidence? 

Excited voices by the river told Len the enemy troops had found the place where he and Bucky had been sitting, probably spotting the scattered nutshells. A moment later, two men came through the trees and spotted the lean-to. More excitement ensued.

Several more men came rushing over to examine the shelter, and then another who, judging by the extra shiny bits on his uniform, was probably an officer. That one went right down into the hollow, then climbed back up again and looked around, scowling at the ground.

No, Len realized - scowling at their tracks. The man said something to his troops, pointing a jabbing finger at the ground. Len was guessing the words were something along the lines of 'they can't have gotten far barefoot'.

The troops spread out again, eyes on the ground this time. It took less than a minute before one of them was at the base of Len's tree, peering up through the branches. When he spotted Len high above, he gave a nasty grin and said something in German. Another soldier found Bucky at almost the same moment, swinging his rifle up to cover the other man.

"They're ordering us to come down with our hands up," Bucky translated, pushing himself up to a sitting position now that he'd been found. He glanced over at Len with a raised eyebrow. "Do we surrender, or go down fighting?"

"I've always been more of a 'live to fight another day' type," Len admitted. "If we're alive, there's always a chance of rescue. We die, and there's no coming back from that."

Closing his eyes, Bucky pressed the heels of his palms against his temples, looking pained. The officer barked a command, impatient with their delay. Sighing, Bucky opened his eyes again and swung down to the branch below. He answered in the same language, though it was tentative and halting.

Presumably he'd confirmed their surrender, because the officer looked smug. Even more so when he got a good look at Bucky, and Len knew the younger man had been recognized.

It appeared that Len was about to get an up close and personal example of what his lover had suffered at HYDRA's hands.


	9. Chapter 9

Soft, persistent beeping drew the Soldier from a dark, drugged sleep, the sound grating on his nerves. _Heart monitor_ , his sluggish brain whispered to him. He was in some kind of chair; he could feel the leather-covered padding at his back and ass, tight bands at his chest and wrists holding him in place.

He knew that sound. Knew this feeling. The way the darkness clung to him, tried to suck him back under, but bright lights shone harshly through his closed eyelids, creating a red haze in his vision. The feel of the chair, the straps. The soft murmur of voices around him as the techs waited for him to reach consciousness.

HYDRA. They were taking him out of the ice. Once again, they had need of the Winter Soldier.

Snarling, he fought the restraints, surprised when his limbs actually responded. Usually he felt limp as an overcooked noodle for far too long after waking. By the time he could move to fight, they would already have said the damn words that bound his mind and made him forget once again that he was something more than they wanted him to be.

"Captain, the Sergeant is waking. He seems to be in some distress." The voice was vaguely familiar. Female, with a strong accent, but that meant nothing. HYDRA had fingers in every country's pies, not just among the Germans.

"Sergeant Barnes." This voice was male, British, also familiar. "James, calm yourself. You're safe. This is the Waverider infirmary. Wake up!"

Snarling, he forced his eyes open to see a man in a long trenchcoat standing just out of arm's reach. The man raised an eyebrow when he saw James was looking, and spoke again. "Listen to me carefully. This is not a HYDRA facility. You are not a captive. You're restrained only because I feared exactly this situation, that you would wake disoriented and aggressive."

"Let me go, then," he ground out, hands clenching into fists.

To his shock, the man nodded. "Yes, I just wanted to be certain you were awake and aware, first. Gideon, release the restraints."

The straps around his chest and arms fell away, and he lunged up out of the chair. He had a split second to make a vital decision - attack, or retreat? Training told him to be aggressive, to attack the man before the bastard could say the fucking words that would bind the Soldier to him.

Yet instinct whispered at him to retreat, to wait and clear his head and figure out what was really going on. Going with his gut, he put as much space between him and the man as he could, backing himself into the far corner so nobody could flank him and looking around for the still unseen female who'd spoken.

Without thinking, he drew his pistol and aimed it at the man... then broke eye contact to stare at the gun instead, astonished. He could tell by the weight that it was fully loaded. Glancing down, he confirmed that he had a second gun in another holster, a heavy ka-bar style knife in a sheath on his thigh, and half a dozen throwing knives in easy reach. Even if the guns were loaded with blanks - and why bother when they could have taken the weapons away, instead? - the knives would be more than enough for him to fight his way free.

"As I said, Sergeant." The man's voice was steady and calm, his expression carefully neutral. "You are among allies, in a secure facility. Your weapons are fully functional."

"However," the woman put in, an edge of humour in her tone, "I would appreciate it if you don't fire to confirm that. There's a great deal of sensitive equipment in the infirmary, and you and your teammates require its use on a distressingly regular basis."

Slowly memory returned, and James lowered his gun to aim at the floor instead of at the man. At Captain Hunter. This was the Waverider, a timeship from the future. Gideon was a computer, which was why he couldn't see her. He was James Barnes, not the Winter Soldier.

"Sorry," he muttered, his voice gruff with embarrassment. This was the first time he'd been seriously injured enough to be unconscious as Gideon healed him, but he probably should have anticipated the potential problem if and when it did happen. Hunter obviously had. "Restraining me was a good call."

As much as he _hated_ to be strapped down, it was exactly what he'd have told them to do. The Soldier was dangerous, and highly unstable when coming out of the ice. If Len had been there, James might have come to his senses sooner, but he'd still...

Len.

The specific memory of _how_ he'd ended up unconscious and injured slammed into him. James growled, his hand tightening on his grip of his pistol, struggling against the insane urge to run off and rescue his lover right there and then. For all he knew, Len had already been located and was safe and sound, warming up in their quarters.

Except that wasn't possible. If Len was on the ship, he _would_ have been here waiting for James to wake. Not only because he'd know the danger of the Soldier waking instead, but because he would be hovering and fussing. Len took care of his people, and James was categorically _his_. 

"Sit rep?" Technically he didn't have the authority to demand a situation report from Hunter, but he also knew the captain wasn't stupid enough to try to withhold the information.

"Mr. Snart is still MIA," Hunter replied immediately, knowing what James' first priority would be. "By the time we cleared out the remaining HYDRA forces, including the sniper who hit you, we had enough injured that we were forced into a full-scale retreat, and he has not found his way back to us. No deaths among the Commandos, but Captain Rogers was injured badly enough that they were forced to retreat to base as well."

"Fuck." Steve had been hurt before the sniper, but he'd still have insisted on searching for Bucky. Either the shot had passed through James to hit him, or he'd been further injured in the renewed fight afterward. "History?"

"As yet there are only minor alterations to the timeline," Gideon answered. "This particular HYDRA base isn't dealt with until much later in the war, but it has no impact on the defeat of the Red Skull. Captain Rogers will make a full recovery. However, there is a significant amount of flux that suggests the true fallout of the situation has not yet settled."

"How long was I out?"

"Just over fourteen hours," Hunter said, his gaze wary.

James froze, disbelief sending tendrils of ice down his spine. "More than half a fucking day, and nobody's gone after Len? Not even Rory?" He and the pyro might not like each other, but they were united in their loyalty to Len.

"As I said, we had too many injured." Hunter spread his hands. "Mr. Rory is currently sleeping off the sedative we were forced to administer. His burns will have healed fully by now, but it would have been suicide for him to go charging off alone."

Reluctantly, James had to admit that had probably been a wise move on Hunter's part. Rory was a hothead, would have gone out there with no forethought and no plan, and they were deep in HYDRA territory. "Fine. I'm awake now, presumably everyone else is healed enough or they'd be in here too, so let's go."

"Sergeant, I understand your desire to make Mr. Snart's wellbeing your first priority," Hunter said, making a placating gesture with his hands. "However, at this moment we still have a chance to catch Savage by surprise. It won't be long until rumours of our presence here start spreading - there were HYDRA troops who escaped, and they _will_ talk about the improbable things they saw our team doing."

For a long moment James simply stared at him, waiting for Hunter to laugh or otherwise indicate he wasn't serious. When the man said nothing, James narrowed his eyes. "Please tell me that was a joke." His voice was flat and dead, very much that of the Winter Soldier. Anyone in the Rogues or Team Flash would have recognize that tone for the deadly warning it was. By now, the Legends should have learned the same. "You did not just try to order me to leave Len behind."

Apparently oblivious to his impending violent demise, Hunter crossed his arms. "I'd expect that you of all this crew would understand that sometimes the mission takes precedence over personal priorities. It's imperative that we seize this chance before it slips through our grasp."

Lisa had been helping James to work through some of his anger issues, before he'd left Central to join the Waverider crew with Len and Rory. So he took a breath, counted to ten, and reassessed the situation.

Nope. He still wanted to break the Brit's goddamn neck for daring to think he could order James to _abandon Len_. Even temporarily.

"Let me make this perfectly clear to you." James stared him down, putting every last drop of his cold fury into his gaze for Hunter to see. "I _am_ going after Len. Not tomorrow. Not later. Right the fuck now. If you try to stop me, I swear to god I will react with extreme, violent prejudice. There will not be enough equipment in this entire ship to put you back together by the time I'm done."

Either Hunter had a death wish, or he was too stupid to realize that James didn't make idle threats. He simply arched a brow and gave James an imperious look. "I'm afraid I must insist. We still have a chance to win the day one man down, but we can't afford to lose another."

"Two more." Mick Rory's deep voice was a dangerously low rumble, and the heat behind his words matched the ice in James'. He sauntered through the door, beer in one hand and heat gun in the other, his eyes locked on Hunter. "Much as I hate to say it, I agree with Jimmy about this one. You lot can do whatever the fuck you want. We're going after Snart."

For once in perfect harmony, James nodded at Rory in acknowledgement of the big man's support. He wouldn't turn down the backup, even though in theory he would have been better able to operate on his own. Rory had been Snart's best friend for thirty years, had at least as much right to go after the man as James did, and he wouldn't try to take that from Rory.

"Maybe you oughta take the opportunity to do some damn recon, for a change," James suggested to Hunter. "Might give us a better shot, instead of charging in half-cocked and having Savage hand us our asses. _Again_."

The number of times they'd already tried and failed to stop Savage sat badly with James. Len had helped him get past the pathological aversion to failure that HYDRA had instilled in the Winter Soldier, but he still had pride. If the failures had been a result of simply being bested by a better fighter, he might have been able to handle that. 

The simple fact was that the Legends were so damn disorganized and dysfunctional, Savage barely _needed_ to fight them off. They tended to sabotage themselves without any help from him.

James' jab seemed to hit home. Hunter finally looked disquieted. "Yes, well. That's still..."

Losing his temper, James grabbed the man by his jacket and slammed him up against the wall, feet inches from the floor. He wasn’t strangling him, not yet, but the position would be painful for Hunter. "For fuck's sake. It's not only Len I need to make sure is safe!"

Under different circumstances, the chagrin that filled Hunter's eyes might have been gratifying. "Yes, of course. The younger Sergeant Barnes is missing as well. Forgive me, I hadn't thought it through that far."

James didn't make the mistake of thinking that remorse was an indication that Hunter was worried about his wellbeing, or cared what happened to his past self. If something happened to Bucky now, James might well flicker out of existence as the timeline shifted. If they were in the middle of a battle with Savage at the time, that was going to make things damn awkward for the Legends.

Hunter had fooled many of the others into thinking this whole mad venture was a quest for the greater good of the world, and that he cared about them as people. But there was a look in Hunter's eyes when he talked about Savage that James knew far too damn well. It was the same look James got when the subject of HYDRA came up. 

Stopping Savage _would_ save the world, but as far as Hunter was concerned, that was a bonus. The only thing the man from the future cared about saving was the family that Savage had stolen from him.

“Rory and I will…” Pain sliced through James, agony in his shoulder and arm, bad enough that he grunted and dropped his grip on Hunter. He staggered back, clutching at his shoulder, not sure what the hell was happening.

It felt like a catastrophic failure of his metal arm, but _why_? Had the bullet fucked up something in the system, and Gideon hadn’t realized because it wasn’t a medical issue? Grinding his teeth against the cry of pain that wanted to escape, he tried to flex his left hand and looked down to see if he’d made a fist.

And stared, shocked into numbness, forgetting all about the pain in his disbelief.

He’d made a fist just fine. The problem was that it was made of _flesh_.

The metal arm was gone.

“Gideon?” There was a shrill note in his inquiry that he couldn’t quite suppress, panic shooting through him as his heart kicked into double time.

“As I said, it appears history is still shifting.” The AI sounded incongruously cheerful, as she so often did when delivering bad news. “Bucky Barnes is now listed as missing in action as of this date, never recovered. You still become the Winter Soldier, but there is no record of you ever having a metal arm.”

Chilled to the bone, James stared at his hand and tried to think of _any_ reason beyond the obvious that could explain the change. Nothing came to mind. He’d lost the arm in the fall that led to his second capture by HYDRA. If he’d never suffered that fall, Zola wouldn’t have bothered replacing the limb with a mechanical one.

But if he’d never suffered that fall, he shouldn’t have been captured… unless it was happening right now.

“I was captured at this time, instead of later.” The words were a hoarse, anguished whisper, and he raised tortured eyes to Hunter. It felt like his heart was being crushed in his chest. 

The terror wasn’t for himself - his history wouldn’t be changed significantly by this, other than the arm. That would be annoying, losing the advantage the bulletproof metal sometimes provided, but he could adjust.

No, the part that sent acid fingers of fear crawling up his throat was the obvious corollary. It was almost certain that Len would have grouped up with Bucky, hard to imagine any other situation. So if HYDRA had captured Bucky now, then…

Closing his eyes, James shuddered, torn between rage and despair. “HYDRA has Len.”


	10. Chapter 10

The HYDRA troops clearly didn't give a shit that neither Len nor Bucky had any boots. They force marched the two captives through the woods, and Len was pretty sure the assholes deliberately steered Len and Bucky over the sharpest possible sticks and stones. It wasn't long before Len's feet were bleeding heavily through his torn socks, and he could see trails of blood left behind in Bucky's footsteps as well.

There was no point in even thinking about trying to escape. Unable to run, they wouldn't get twenty feet before HYDRA recaptured them. Even so, Len saw Bucky watching the area around them with sharp eyes, as if he was looking for an opportunity.

"Save your strength," Len muttered. "Don't give them the excuse to hurt you more."

"You say that like they need an excuse," Bucky replied, grimacing. "Once they get us to the base, they'll throw us into cages. We'll never get out without help."

Thinking about the screaming nightmares James sometimes had, the files Len had read about the tortures HYDRA had inflicted on their Soldier, Len shivered. Yes, he could well imagine that HYDRA would take great pleasure in tormenting captives, with no excuse at all.

Still, they had to be smart about this. "I know a thing or two about jail breaks," he murmured, giving Bucky a quirky grin that was just this side of a smirk. "Cages don't tend to hold me for long. Stick with me, kid. I'll get us out of this. But not if you get yourself killed trying to escape when there's zero chance."

"Nicht sprechen," one of their captors snapped, and jabbed Len in the ribs with the barrel of his gun. _Hard_. 

A sharp stab of pain speared through his chest, and Len gritted his teeth against a grunt. For once Len decided to do as he was told and shut up, instead of responding with a wisecrack. Escape would be a lot harder if they broke his ribs.

Besides, he knew very well that James was going to blame himself for every cut and bruise on Len's body, let alone broken bones. His lover would feel he'd failed to protect Len. 

By the time they made it to the HYDRA base, both Len and Bucky were staggering, barely able to stay on their feet. Merciless, the HYDRA troops prodded them down a hallway where they left bloody footprints on the stone tile, an alarming hue of red under the harsh lighting. One of them swung open what looked like a heavy wooden door, except it only came up to about Len's waist.

A trooper kicked Bucky's feet out from under him, sending him crashing to his knees, then shoved him through the doorway with a boot to the ass. Realizing what was coming, Len went to all fours before they could force him to it with a blow. He liked his dignity, but he liked his body in one piece more. Dignity wouldn't help him break out of here.

It didn't stop them from kicking him in the ass to 'encourage' him into the dark hole, never mind that he was already moving as fast as he could. Laughing, the Germans slammed the door behind him.

The darkness was all-encompassing, Len's eyes straining to find light where there was none. The air was stifling, and the whole 'room' felt close and confined. When he reached above him, Len wasn't at all surprised to find the ceiling was barely high enough to allow him to stay on hands and knees. Standing was out of the question. Stretching out to the sides got him a wall inches away on the left, and Bucky on the right.

"Close quarters," Len said, trying for a note of levity. "Good thing we already got comfortable with that."

"Worse than you think," Bucky replied. "Whole thing is maybe four feet long. Not enough room to lie flat. We'll have to curl up on top of each other like puppies to sleep."

The strain in his voice was well-hidden beneath the attempt at a light-hearted joke, but Len knew this man too well to miss it. Frankly, James was a lot better at hiding his emotions, having learned through brutal punishments to mask anything that wasn't the perfect Winter Soldier.

Shifting to a sitting position with his back against one wall, Len braced his feet against the other, and his knees were bent. Close quarters indeed. Beside him Bucky did the same in the opposite direction. The space was barely wide enough, their hips pressed together one one side and jammed into the wall on the other. If they'd tried to face the same direction, their shoulders would have been too wide.

"This is different from the last time I was captured," Bucky said. "This base is a command center, not one of their factory labour camps. On the plus side, I guess that means they won't be working us literally to death."

Len was busy exploring the edges of the door with his fingers, hoping to find the hinges. No such luck; they were on the other side, so it wouldn't be as simple as pulling the pins and crawling out. Surely his eyes had adjusted by now, but there were no tiny cracks of light at the top and bottom of the door. "Do they mean to suffocate us?"

"There's some kinda vent on my side." Bucky knocked his hand against metal, presumably the vent in question. They'd been thoroughly searched and relieved of all weapons when HYDRA had tied them up back in the clearing, even their belts. "Way too small to crawl into, even if we could get the cover off."

Len tried not to think about how often poison gas had been used against prisoners in the second world war. It would be all too easy for HYDRA to pump something in here, and nothing he and Bucky could do about it. "Any screws we might be able to work out? They make surprisingly good weapons in a pinch."

"Nothing I can feel," was the disappointing answer. "Unfortunately, these guys know what they're doing."

There was a tremor in Bucky's voice, the strain creeping noticeably higher. Len could feel the other man's tension where they were pressed together, Bucky's muscles wound to the breaking point. The intensity of the reaction surprised him. From James, who had undergone years of torture at HYDRA's hands, it would have been understandable.

"What did they do to you?" Len kept his voice low and quiet, as calm as he could make it. That was a skill he'd learned for dealing with James in the moments after a nightmare. "Last time. What can we expect?"

"Experiments." The harsh, bleak tone in Bucky's voice said everything that needed to be said, but he elaborated anyway. "Once Zola gets here, if he's not already, he'll probably use us as guinea pigs. They're trying to recreate the serum that was used on the Red Skull and Captain America. I thought they were going to question me, at first. They pumped me full of shit, I don't even know what, all kinds of drugs, but they never asked me anything to do with the Army."

"Not my idea of a good time," Len acknowledged. He hesitated, then reached out and fumbled around until he found Bucky's hand, putting his over it for comfort.

Bucky turned his hand over and gripped Len's back, squeezing tight enough to hurt. Thankfully, he didn't yet have James' enhanced strength. "Some guys, they break. I don't mean kill, though they certainly do plenty of that. There's been reports of 'rescued' men who seem fine, unhurt, don't remember anything. But then when they get back to their camps, sometimes days or even weeks after, they go nuts and start killing as many people as they can. Whole units have been lost to bombs set off by their own friends. I have nightmares about it."

"Fuck." That was certainly the kind of thing that could haunt a man who'd been captured. How long would you have to wait before you could convince yourself that you were 'safe', that you weren't going to have a breakdown and kill the people closest to you? 

For Bucky especially, it must have been terrifying to think that at any moment he could turn on his best friend and kill Captain America, doing HYDRA's work for them. He was probably the one person who _could_ , because Rogers wouldn't see it coming and might not defend himself.

It occurred to Len that HYDRA had in fact done exactly that, on a larger scale, when they'd created the Winter Soldier. James had sometimes referred to his time in captivity as 'living a nightmare', but Len hadn't realized it was a literal statement. 

"I won't let them do that to you," Len assured him, squeezing his fingers in return. He lied without hesitation, without compunction, offering the only comfort he could in that moment. "I promise, you will not turn on your friends." In a small way, it was even the truth - Bucky wouldn't turn on them _this time_. Would never hurt any of the Commandos or his fellows in the Army, in fact.

Just Steve Rogers, his best friend and brother in all but blood.

"Yeah?" Bucky sounded skeptical, justifiably so. "How're you gonna make sure of that?"

"We have our ways." Len could even be certain that Rip would back him on this, because having Bucky go nuts and start killing Commandos would change history far too drastically. Gideon could undo any major psychological damage like that - he knew, because she'd offered the option to James.

His lover had agonized over the offer, before finally deciding to turn it down. "I wouldn't be me anymore," he'd said firmly, though not without regret. "I'd still have gone through all that shit. I'd still have done all those things. It would be disrespecting every person I hurt or killed, to be able to just... move past that so easily. And I've worked too hard to make myself someone _I_ want to be, to be willing to undo all that."

The one thing James had permitted was for Gideon to remove his command protocols, the series of words that would allow a HYDRA agent - or anyone else who knew of them - to trigger his full conditioning in an instant. Nobody would ever control him again. 

Feeling no lessening of tension in the other man, Len forced a smirk into his voice. "C'mon, we have a guy who spontaneously combusts and flies around throwing fireballs, among other things you saw back there. Do you really doubt that we might have more tricks up our sleeves?"

"Yeah, you planning to explain any of that, yet?" Bucky asked, and Len could almost hear the raised eyebrow. "We're gonna have an awful lot of downtime in here. Might as well at least fill it with an interesting topic."

"You want me to tell you all about our powerful, highly classified weapons while locked in a cage where HYDRA might be listening?" Len countered.

"Fuck. Right. That's probably a bad idea." Bucky sighed. "Tell me about yourself, then. How'd you get mixed up in this crazy shit?"

Anyone else, Len would have refused to answer, or made up a string of creative lies. He didn't go around giving out personal details, things that might later be used against him.

But this was Bucky. Even knowing that James wouldn't remember anything Len told him now, he found he _wanted_ to be open with the man who would become his lover. It was surprisingly easy to get the words out.

So for the first time ever, Len talked about himself and his life. His dirty cop father going to prison, turning into an abusive asshole, and dragging Len and his sister into a life of crime. Breaking free of that horrible cycle, becoming so much more than his father had believed him to be, the best damn thief in three states. Maybe in the country.

He also told Bucky about meeting James, how he'd watched the broken man piece himself back together one shattered fragment at a time, now the strongest person Len knew. A man Len was proud to call one of his Rogues, and humbled to call his lover. 

In a way, it was meant as encouragement to Bucky, reassurance that he would get through all the coming horror and emerge on the other side as someone who could hold his head high, even though Len knew the man wouldn’t understand.

In return, Bucky shared stories about his life. His little sisters, whom he adored and fully intended to shower with gifts and affection if and when he ever returned home to New York. What it had been like growing up with Steve Rogers, a kid who refused to ever back down from a fight and had more courage and heart in his frail body than any three other boys Bucky had known. How he’d volunteered for the Army while trying to dissuade Steve from doing the same, grateful when the recruiters turned the sickly man down again and again, despite Steve's best efforts.

"Even though I knew how much he hated that he wasn't able to make a difference and stop the bullies, I thanked god for it every damn night," Bucky said, his voice a dry rasp after hours of talking with no water. "No matter how bad it got over here, I knew he was safe at home. I don't just mean bad in terms of being injured or dying. I've done things I'm not proud of. We all have. All that shiny patriotic hero crap they spew at you in boot camp is _bullshit_. War is dirty, and foul, and ugly. It _changes_ you, so deep you don't even recognize yourself sometimes. There's nights when I wonder if I can ever really go home, or if the man I was before is too lost to truly find his way back."

"And yet here Steve is, right in the middle of things where he wanted to be," Len pointed out. "If he was _more_ heroic and righteous than this before, I think I'd have to punch him out on principle."

The comment drew a ragged laugh from Bucky. "Yeah, I know what you mean. Sometimes I wanna smack him, too. When I was captured the first time, I used to imagine him back in New York. Knowing that he was still out there, that there would always be one good thing in the world, kept me sane. Then he showed up to rescue me, a foot taller and a hundred pounds of muscle heavier, and I thought I'd finally lost it."

"I bet." Len wished he could have been a fly on the wall for that moment, picturing the shock and confusion and disbelief on Bucky's face. "So has war dragged him into the dark with the rest of us?"

"Nah." Bucky was firm on that point. "I mean it's changed him, of course it has. He's lost the shiny idealism, but somehow he didn't lose his belief in the goodness of humanity along with it. He's too goddamn stubborn to let himself sink into the mud of practicality over righteousness, and fuck me if he ain't hauling the rest of us back up there with him. Steve believes in doing the right thing so hard, he makes you want to believe in it too. I'm glad he's here for our sakes, even if I hate it for his sake."

"Living in the light isn't something I know much about," Len admitted. "But things have changed a lot in the last while. Two years ago I risked the lives of a hundred people, women and children included, to test how strong an enemy was. Now here I am, gallivanting around..." He almost said 'time', changed his words at the last moment. "...around the world to stop a monster from massacring millions. Playing _hero_ like some kind of self-sacrificing idiot."

"I thought you said you joined your crew for the chance to steal things from all over the place?" Bucky teased him.

"Oh, I'm doing that too," Len laughed. "Never doubt it. But it's not the _only_ reason I live for, anymore."

Not least because of James' influence on him, though Len had already been changing by the time James met the Rogues. Joining the Waverider crew had given James an opportunity to be a hero again, in a way that utilized who he was and the skills he had now, not the bright shiny way that would have been required had he taken Rogers up on the invitation to join the Avengers. Len couldn't have denied him that chance, couldn't insist he stay in Central as a criminal.

And he sure as _fuck_ wasn't letting James go out there risking himself without Len there to watch his back.

Before Bucky could answer, the door swung open again, scraping harshly against the floor. The sudden burst of light was too bright to see through, dazzling Len and bringing tears to his eyes. He and Bucky both went tense, and Len fisted his hands, waiting for his eyes to clear so he could judge their chances of being able to fight their way out.

"Sergeant Barnes." The voice was soft, high for a man but definitely not a woman, full of smarmy, oily pleasure that made Len want to punch the speaker in the face to shut him up. "How nice to see you again."

Bucky made a sound in the back of his throat, an animal noise as if the gut-deep reaction had been yanked out of him. If he'd been tense before, now he was all but vibrating with it. Len's heart sank as he realized who this man must be.

Sure enough, when Bucky spoke his tone was one of rage and fear and hatred, very close to the way James sounded when he spoke of HYDRA - and of one man in particular.

"Zola."


	11. Chapter 11

Shockingly, Rory held his tongue until they were well away from the Waverider. He stomped through the forest alongside James in glowering silence. James counted himself lucky for the break, even as he knew it was a ticking time bomb. 

Sure enough, after about two and a half miles, Rory finally spoke, his voice a low growl. "Why the hell are you wearing that getup, anyway? Ain't gonna run into the Commodores out here this time. They got hurt."

James didn’t bother correcting Rory about the name of the Commandos. "Actually, we are. In fact, we’re looking for them." 

Lifting a hand, James brushed gloved fingers over his mask. He hated it with every fiber of his being, hated the Winter Soldier and all that HYDRA had made of him. But it made a convenient way to hide his identity from Steve and the others, and there was some satisfaction in using the Soldier to fight against HYDRA.

Then, too, he felt a need to distance himself from Bucky Barnes and all that he had been. Seeing his younger self, even for such a brief time, had been painful.

Knowing that Len was out there somewhere with that younger self, had been for the better part of a day before they'd been captured, was even more painful. Bucky was suave and charming and friendly. _He_ didn't need to have basic things like the concept of sex and dating explained to him. _He_ would know exactly how to treat Len right, with the respect and romance his lover deserved.

Shaking off the dark thoughts, he continued his explanation to Rory. "We know HYDRA has my past self, and presumably Len with him. Chances are good they're at the HYDRA base in the area, the same one the Commandos were on their way to attack. Which means they've got all the intel we need to do the same." 

"Gideon coulda told us where it was," Rory grunted. "Then we storm it and get Len back. Simple."

"This is a big base. It's not going to be a cakewalk." James shook his head. "We need more than just the location. Fortifications, troop numbers, defense setup... the Commandos might even have a plan already made for how to get in past the guards. They can't use it now, not with so many injured and Rogers out of commission for days, but that leaves the way open for us."

Plus, it would help to fix history. This base was supposed to be taken out right now. If Steve and the others waited until they were healed and then went after it, that would set back the Commandos' timeline for hitting HYDRA bases by a week or more. Because of that, they would probably miss the train carrying Zola through the Alps, and never find out the location of the last, top-secret HYDRA base.

Worse, losing Bucky in this way, missing instead of presumed dead, meant Steve would insist on hunting for his friend. The fact that James was still the Winter Soldier meant the Commandos wouldn't succeed in finding him, but there was a good chance one or more of them would die in the hunt. Maybe even Steve.

All of which meant Schmidt would be able to launch the Valkyrie with no obstacles, and would drop bombs on every major capitol in the world. This one 'small' change might very well lose them the war.

Flexing his left fist, James flinched at the _feel_ of it. He had sensory feedback from the metal arm, wouldn't be able to hold equipment and weapons without it, let alone perform delicate tasks like deactivating security systems or setting up explosive charges. Or wrapping his hand around Len's cock, thrusting fingers into his lover to open him up for James' dick.

Electronic sensory feedback wasn't the same as the real thing, however. Especially since there hadn't been many sensors other than in the palm and fingers. After not having the limb for so long, every square inch of skin was sensitive to the point of pain, his nerves firing wildly and brain unable to handle the overload. He'd been forced to keep his sleeveless jacket even though it meant he was constantly _looking_ at the reminder of the massive fuckup, simply to hold on to his sanity.

Gideon said he would adjust soon, but that wasn’t a good thing. The less sensitive it felt, the more it meant his body was settling into the new timeline, and the closer that timeline was to being set in stone. 

Already James was catching flashes of new memories, various missions he'd been on where he had fuzzy double recollection of both having and not having the metal arm. The ones of having it would fade eventually, if he didn't do something to change history back the way it should be.

Everything about this mission was already a clusterfuck, and he was about to make it even worse by walking back into the middle of the people who'd known him best - but didn't know him at all, anymore.

They made no attempt to be stealthy as they came up on the tiny field camp. The Commandos would be on high alert with their leader badly hurt and second in command gone MIA. If James and Rory caught them off guard, they were likely to shoot first and ask questions of the corpses. 

So when the first sentry spotted them and called for them to halt, James obediently stopped moving and lifted his empty hands in the air, the universal sign for 'I'm unarmed'. He had to kick Rory's ankle, but the bigger man finally clipped his heat gun to his belt and lifted his hands as well. 

"We're friendlies," James called. "We just wanna talk."

Dernier was the one who'd spotted them, but it was Gabe Jones who stepped out of the trees to confront them. The big black man was one of the steadiest, most dependable Commandos, and James wasn't surprised he'd been chosen as the group spokesperson under the circumstances. He'd never officially been third in command, the brass wouldn't allow it because of his colour, but all the Commandos knew he _was_.

That was why Steve had - would - choose him along with Bucky for the attack on Zola's train. Knowing they'd have only a limited window of attack, he'd taken his best people with him to ensure success. 

"All right, we're talking," Jones said, planting himself before them in a way that said clearly he had no intention of inviting them into the camp. "Whaddya got to say?"

James stifled a noise of frustration. Impatience would get him nowhere, but it was hard when he knew that every second that passed was another moment HYDRA could be torturing Len - or starting the process of breaking Bucky. 

"We have confirmation of your teammate's location,” James said. “HYDRA's captured him, along with our man - musta fished them out of the river. You lot are too injured to run the raid I know you were planning, but if you give your intel to us, I will make sure we get your guy out along with ours."

"Yeah? Why should I trust a fella what won't even show his face?" Jones was clearly unimpressed by James' logic. "For all I know, you led us into that HYDRA trap. Sure as hell the battle went worse because your crew fucked up. We'll rescue our own man."

"When?" James pressed him, cold and implacable. "In a few days? Next week? HYDRA will have moved him by then, and you'll never find him. Or by the time you do, it'll be way too late."

"Just give us the damn info," Rory growled, hand on the butt of his gun and a distinctly unfriendly look on his face. "You get your pretty boy back, I get my partner, win-win."

"Let me talk to... to Rogers." James all but bit his tongue when 'Steve' nearly slipped out. He couldn't seem too familiar with them. Thankfully they'd probably put the hesitation down to him almost saying 'Captain America' instead. "We both know you don't have the authority to make this call, so let's cut to the chase with the fella who does."

From the treeline came a new voice, so painfully familiar that it made James' heart squeeze even after having heard it the day before. "What makes you think I'm going to say anything different than Jones?" 

Steve stepped into view, his movements stiff and awkward as he struggled to act as if he was uninjured. As if he saw James and Rory as a threat, and didn't want to reveal weakness.

Well, he wasn't wrong. They _were_ a threat, in many ways. But it still hurt James for Steve to treat him that way. Damn it, he'd known this was a mistake.

Steve was studying him in return, frowning. It was clear he didn't like what he saw, in either James or Rory. Small wonder - Rory radiated 'thug' with every atom of his being, and while James had come to realize there was more to the man than Rory liked the world to believe, there was no reason for Steve to look beyond the surface. As for James himself, well... the Winter Soldier's reputation might not exist yet, but his appearance had been designed to exude 'dangerous' and 'intimidating'.

"Take the mask off, and we can talk," Steve said, his tone brooking no argument.

Unfortunately for him, James had had years of practice arguing with his stubborn best friend. He even remembered some of them, now. "No." He crossed his arms, letting his body language project the fact that he was just as stubborn. Irresistible force, meet immovable object. "Let's just say, the Red Skull ain't the only one who doesn't want the world to see his face."

Understanding crossed Steve's expression, as he picked up on the inferred lie James had just told. "You have the early version of the serum. I thought only Schmidt had taken it."

James just shrugged, letting Steve believe his own conclusions. "Point is, seeing my face isn't going to help you determine whether I'm sincere." He hated lying to Steve so blatantly, but there was no way around it. Half-truths and evasions weren't going to convince his friend not to demand the removal of the mask. This _might_.

"For fuck's sake." Rory spat on the ground at his feet, glowering at Steve. "Jimmy took a goddamn sniper bullet for you. That don't count for nothing?"

In the panic of waking disoriented, followed by the greater panic of realizing HYDRA had Len and history was changing, James had honestly not considered the reason _why_ he'd been unconscious in the medbay. He did a hasty visual once-over of Steve, searching for signs of any new injuries from a bullet. As far as he could tell, there were still only the two shrapnel wounds, half-healed thanks to the serum but still debilitating. 

It surprised him that Rory had spoken up in his defense. Yeah, they'd settled the worst of the issues they'd had with each other after James became Len's lover, but there was no affection lost between them. Then again, their devotion to Len was the one thing they truly had in common, and supporting James now was the fastest way to rescue their leader.

Steve's face softened at the reminder. "Yeah, that counts for something," he acknowledged. Then he tipped his head. "How the hell are you up and walking around, let alone going out on a mission?"

"Classified." That was the best and only answer James could give him. 'We've got a computer from three hundred years in the future that can heal us instantly' was not a viable alternative. "Unavailable to you. So the question is, do you want Barnes back now, or later? I guarantee he'd rather it was now. One way or the other, we're going after our man. It's just a question of how effective we are, and whether we have a chance to get them both out, or just one."

That was another flat out lie, because there was no way in hell James could leave his past self in HYDRA's tender care. But he had to make Steve believe that giving them the intel was his only option.

A muscle jumped in Steve's jaw, the sight triggering a dozen memories or more in James' shattered mind. It meant Steve was grinding his teeth, frustrated at facing an obstacle he knew he couldn't overcome. Usually, he didn't let that impossibility stop him, but even he knew there was only so much he could do to save Bucky while he - and half his command - were injured.

"Jones, get me a copy of our mission briefing and the plan of attack," he finally ordered, much to James' relief. Jones saluted and ran off, and Steve gave James a fiercely determined look. "Bring him home safe. If you use this info to rescue your man, leave ours behind, and fuck up our chances of a rescue as well, I will hunt you down as a traitor."

"Understood." James already knew Steve would never forgive such a betrayal. Luckily for all of them, screwing Bucky over was simply not an option for James. "I swear to you, Captain. He'll be back in one piece." No matter what he had to do to assure that - or die trying.

Too bad that safety would last barely a month before Bucky was back in HYDRA's hands for a third, and much more permanent, stay.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional light warning for period-typical racism and antisemitism (i.e. Nazi attitudes) in this chapter

Zola was not at all what Len had expected from the man who haunted the nightmares of the world's most dangerous assassin. Even crouched down in front of the half door, backlit and barely visible, he looked more like somebody's roly-poly, harmless uncle than a psychotic mad scientist. The man projected 'I am harmless' for all he was worth.

It made Len instantly dislike and distrust him. Even aside from knowing what the bastard had done to James, Len had met men like him in the past. One of the most sociopathic mob killers he'd ever known had been short, balding, and pudgy in a way that made him seem utterly incompetent. It was always the 'harmless' ones you had to watch out for, because they'd learned how to game the system and manipulate everyone around them.

Squeezing Bucky's hand for reassurance, Len shifted so he was filling the doorway, making it hard for Zola to get a look at Bucky past him. And, not incidentally, shielding Bucky from seeing much of Zola, too. 

"So you're the great Dr. Arnim Zola." Len had learned everything he could about the man after the first time James had screamed his name in a nightmare. The man Len had once been, before the Flash had started to change his life, would have been genuinely impressed by the scientist's ruthless accomplishments. Zola had not only survived the war without being punished for his crimes, he'd risen to prominence within SHIELD and brought HYDRA to a higher level than it had ever attained before.

The man Len was now hated this asshole with every fiber of his being for what the fucker had done to James. He would not give this bastard _one second more_ to torture Bucky than absolutely had to happen for history's sake.

"Ah, my reputation precedes me." Zola sounded smugly pleased, as if he thought this was his due. "Yet I detect a hint of sarcasm in your tone, do I not?"

"How very perceptive of you," Len sneered at him. "I'm impressed by the survival abilities of cockroaches, too. From what I hear, that's pretty much what you are. A cockroach, scuttling around in the wake of anyone who will toss him crumbs of power and borrowed glory."

At the moment, the best plan he could up with to protect Bucky was to make himself the target of the doctor's wrath. It was what he'd done to try to shield his sister from their father's violent outbursts, and while it hadn't worked perfectly, it had been effective enough. Besides, if the doctor dragged him off to be interrogated or beaten or experimented on, it would give Len a chance to case the place and start putting together a sketchy idea of how to escape.

Never mind the cold sweat running down his spine at the thought of being subjected to even a portion of what they'd done to break James. Surely Zola wouldn't go that far on Len.

Surely.

Behind him, Bucky gripped tight at his hand and hissed, low and urgent. "Don't piss him off, idiot." Trying to protect Len, like the hero he was, though it meant facing his own worst nightmare.

Len flatly refused to consider the obvious correlation that _his_ efforts to save _Bucky_ were therefore also heroic. He was a supervillain, damn it. A neutral grey party at best. Heroism wasn't his style.

Protecting his Rogues was an act of self-interest, not heroism.

"And to whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?" Zola asked, the polite words containing a sharp bite in the tone. 

"You're welcome to address me as Captain Cold," Len informed him with a magnanimous air. "Here's the deal. I know what you're trying to accomplish, recreating the serum. I'd love to get me some of that. So I'm volunteering."

"A willing test subject?" Zola chuckled. "How quaint. You realize, of course, if I were to succeed you would never be released."

"You can try to hold me. Nobody else has ever managed. Maybe you'll be the exception." Len did his best to project the idea that he was too arrogant to believe he could be kept captive. 

Actually, he _did_ believe Zola would never keep him, but it was because he knew exactly who would be coming to rescue him. All he had to do was hang on long enough.

"Are you crazy? What the hell are you doing?" Bucky blurted out. He tried to shove past Len, get Zola's attention, but Len refused to budge. "Forget about him, Zola. Don't you want a chance to get some readings on one of your test subjects after months in the field?"

"Never mind that," Len cut in, putting a hand on Bucky's shoulder and physically shoving him back. "He's obviously a failed attempt. The sooner you get started on me, the faster you'll know if whatever your current process is gets results."

Zola laughed in delight. "You're trying to sacrifice yourselves to protect each other. You see, this is why HYDRA will triumph in the end. Our troops sacrifice themselves only for the greater good, not the good of meaningless individual lives. You will both die in the end, and HYDRA will grow stronger in your blood."

"Excuse me," Len muttered, lip curling in disdain. "I think I just threw up in my mouth a little. Full of yourself, much? Might wanna deflate that ego a bit, before you stop fitting through doorways. Then again, your body's probably already giving you trouble with that."

Zola paused for a second, a frown creasing his brow as he tried to work through the modern slang and phrasing. Bucky gave a little cough, as if laughing despite himself. Len allowed himself a figurative pat on the back for cheering the other man up, however slight the improvement.

After a moment, Zola cleared his throat. "It is only arrogance if the belief in one's superiority is unfounded. However, you do have a point about the timeline. Come along then, Mr. Cold."

" _Captain_ Cold," Len corrected him, annoyed. He started to crawl out of the hole, but strong hands reached in and grabbed his arms before he could, hauling him bodily through the doorway.

The guards made no attempt at gentleness as they manhandled him, one even going so far as to kick Len in the balls as they hauled him to his feet. Len wheezed as the acid claws of pain dug in and burrowed deep. He fought off the accompanying weakness, long years of lessons in his father's tender care coming in handy for once. 

Never let the enemy see you react. If they know you're vulnerable, they'll push harder at that spot. At all costs, show no weakness.

"Hey, now," he protested, trying to get his sore feet under him and stumbling as a guard deliberately tripped him. "I'm cooperating, remember? No need for a mauling."

"On the contrary, this is part of the process." Zola sounded as cheerful as if he were taking Len to receive some kind of reward. "Accelerated healing is one of the traits we are most interested in reproducing. It is difficult to test whether we have succeeded if the subject suffers no injuries to be healed."

Len didn't bother to point out that he already had plenty of injuries to serve as a litmus test. It was an excuse to feed a sociopathic need for violence and pain, not an actual requirement for the scientific method. 

They dragged him to what was clearly a lab, workbenches lining the walls with gas burners, beakers and flasks full of foul-smelling chemicals, and esoteric machine parts that looked like they might be half-built weapons of some kind. In the middle of the room was a large steel table, with sturdy restraints built in.

Before Len could even contemplate whether or not he should resist being strapped down, Zola pounced on him with a hypodermic needle and injected him with a clear amber liquid. A second later Len's limbs went loose, no longer responding to his commands as his whole body relaxed against his will.

"Get him on the table," Zola instructed, and the guards complied. Then they cut his sweater off him, making no effort to prevent the sharp scissors from digging into his flesh as well. Len didn't allow himself to react to the minor pain, but knew it was only the merest taste of what was to come.

As the guards started buckling the restraints around him, Zola stood looking down at his scars with a mildly intrigued expression. "Interesting. Clearly you are no stranger to pain and punishment. I suspect you'll be able to withstand a great deal more than my usual subjects. Excellent."

Len seethed at having Zola and all his men see Len's scars, the roadmap of violence that had been done to him as a helpless child. James had done a great deal to cure him of feeling shame over those marks, enough that he'd been willing to bare himself to Bucky. But that didn't mean he wanted just anyone to know his life's story.

Zola bustled around him, setting up equipment, sticking electrodes on Len's body and skull, and starting drip feeds from two different IVs into his arms.

"Now, we shall begin." Zola stood over him with a notepad and pen, regarding him with an expression that held nothing but eager curiosity. "Full name, please?"

"I told you, Captain..." Sharp pain shot through Len, starting at the base of his neck and searing its way down his spinal cord. He hissed and went tense, refusing to writhe or cry out. When it released him a moment later, he breathed deeply through his nose, measured breaths in and out, shoving away the lingering pain.

"Let's try again. Full name, please?"

They locked eyes for a long moment, as Len debated his options. It would take more than a little pain to break him, not after what his father had done to him through his whole childhood. On the other hand, there was such a thing as choosing his battles. He needed to still be whole enough to escape when James came for him.

Because James _would_ come for him. He would never leave Len in HYDRA's hands. No more than Len had left him, when their positions were reversed.

"Leopold Smarrelli," he replied, mumbling the false name with apparent reluctance to convince Zola it was real. It was a fake identity he'd used occasionally when working with the Mob Families in Central, so it was a name he was familiar with enough to answer to if called by it.

"Indeed? You don't look Italian." Zola peered at him more closely, a frown pinching his brow. "Now that I can examine you in the light, I see the distinct traits of Negro ancestry, in fact."

"Italian on my dad's side," Len lied glibly. "The Black is from my mom." That part was true enough.

"A pity. Not a truly suitable test subject, after all." Zola shook his head. "Weak blood from the inferior races will tell in the end. However, you will be sufficient to test the first stages of this serum. Are you a Jude, by any chance?"

"A what?" Seething from the racist comments - expected from a Nazi, yes, but no less offensive for that - it took Len a moment to realize what the man was asking. "Jewish? Sure, why not."

Agony seared through him again, punishment for his flippancy. Oddly, Zola appeared to take no particular pleasure in it; he simply shrugged and made a notation on his notepad. "Lying accomplishes nothing but to earn yourself pain, particularly when you are so bad at it. A true Jude either snivels and denies in hopes of having their life spared, or brags of it proudly. Date of birth?"

That one, Len drew a blank on. Obviously Zola would never believe his real date of birth, but what would be a reasonable one? James had been born in 1917, he knew that, but Len was at least a decade older than his lover at this point in time, visibly so. He couldn't have been born later than...

Another jolt of electricity, this one strong enough to cause his muscles to tense nearly to the breaking point. Len hissed through his teeth, unable to suppress all reaction. He'd have sworn at the bastard instead, but his jaw was clamped shut from the spasms. When it finally released him, he collapsed back onto the table, panting. 

"Date of birth?" Zola repeated in a flat tone.

"June 2, 1902," Len ground out. "For fuck's sake, I didn't lie. The drugs are making my head spin, it's hard to think."

Zola frowned and made another notation. "That side effect should not have set in yet. Either we've made a particularly powerful batch, or you are unusually susceptible. Likely your Negro blood has caused a weakness. A pity. Your body will most likely not be able to handle any enhancements." 

"Bite me." Worse men than Zola had tried to use Len's racial heritage against him. The insults were offensive by nature, but had long since stopped actually upsetting him in a personal way. 

Flipping his notebook closed, Zola shook his head. "There is little point in gaining further baseline information, if the experiment is doomed to failure. But I suppose the batch of serum replicant is already wasted, so we may as well continue to see what the effects will be. If nothing else, it will be one more bit of proof of the superiority of Caucasian man."

Len snorted, but didn't bother to argue further as Zola adjusted the drips on the IVs and then bustled away. Racist assholes would always be racist assholes. Nothing you said or did would convince them otherwise, especially not the fanatics like HYDRA.

His bigger worry was that the bastard was going off to torment Bucky instead, but there was nothing Len could do about that now. He flexed his arms, testing the restraints, more for something to do than because he thought there would be any give. They didn't budge.

No chance of breaking free like this. Though he wasn't actually as debilitated by the drugs as he'd told Zola, the scientist's reply seemed to indicate that he _would_ be, so getting loose and defeating the guards when they came to remove him would be problematic. Things would only get worse from here, though - for him and for Bucky.

At least planning potential escapes gave him something to think about other than the slow drip of the IVs, spreading poison into his body, as unpleasant tingling crept over his nerves from the needles buried in his arms.


	13. Chapter 13

The file from the Commandos held everything James needed to mount an assault on the HYDRA base, as he'd hoped. Sentry positions, weaknesses in perimeter defenses, even the best spots to place bombs in order to bring the whole building down.

Well aware that getting Rory to follow a plan was much like trying to herd a cat, James led with the latter detail first. "Once we get Len and my younger self out, your job is pure destruction," he told the pyromaniac as they crouched in a small clearing, just outside the sentry patrol routes. Rory's eyes lit up, and James gave him an encouraging nod. " _After_ the rescue," he repeated, just to be certain that part was driven home.

"You think I'd blow it up with Snart in there?" Rory snorted.

"I think you're perfectly capable of getting carried away with the prospect of a fire right in front of you," James retorted. Rory's lip curled in a snarl, but he didn't protest further. "Which is why we're not going to hit their munitions depot to steal the explosives until after we've got the prisoners. Do you know how to handle old-style blasting caps and fuses?"

Cracking his knuckles, Rory grinned. "If it blows up, I know what to do with it. Just gimme a straight shot, and the Nazi bastards'll be short one base."

"Len's gonna think he's hallucinating when he sees us working together without him to ride herd on us," James commented, lips twitching in a smile despite the seriousness of the situation. "Look at us, bonding over Nazis. Who'd'a thought."

"Less talking, more killing," Rory insisted, hefting his heat gun. "I wanna burn something."

Reaching back over his shoulder, James touched the hilt of the cold gun, where it lay hooked to the harness against his spine. Usually he carried a small submachine gun there, but he wanted it close so he could give it back to Len. His lover would want it as quickly as possible, and James wouldn't deny Len some revenge against his captors.

Satisfied it was secure, he nodded and drew his regular pistol. "Let's do this. _Stay with me_."

"Yeah, yeah." Priming his gun, Rory smiled as the high-pitched whine indicated it was ready to fire. "Get a move on, Jimmy."

James slipped into the trees, heading for the first sentry post. HYDRA ran patrols, but the Commandos’ intel said the sentries went back and forth across their sections of the perimeter, instead of around and around. They met up to check in with each other at each side of their arc - it meant a breach would be noticed as soon as someone missed a meetup.

It also meant there would be two sentries conveniently in one place, easy targets. James waited until the pair he'd picked had turned away from each other, then lunged out of the shadows. He was on the first man before the HYDRA trooper even realized he was under attack, arm around the soldier's neck and a hand covering his mouth to ensure he couldn't raise an alarm.

At which point, James ran into two problems. The first was the fact that he'd grabbed with his left hand reflexively, but without the metal arm, it would be harder to crush the man's throat and choke the life out of him. The second was the same issue he'd faced on the battlefield yesterday.

He couldn't bring himself to kill someone he _knew_ was HYDRA.

Snarling, he willed himself to snap the man's neck, choke the air out of him, _anything_. He'd fought and killed HYDRA members before, such as when Len had broken him out of their base after they'd temporarily captured him. Why couldn't he do it now?

A heavy fist slammed across the soldier's jaw, a sharp cracking sound indicating the bone was probably broken. Rory had thrown the punch, and now stood glowering in front of James. The other trooper was already on the ground, with what looked like a snapped neck.

The soldier went limp in James' hold, unconscious or dead. Growling, James dumped him on the ground and aimed his pistol at the man's head, but _could not_ make himself pull the trigger. Swearing, he turned away so he wouldn't see what Rory was about to do. "Finish him," James ordered, his tone dull.

"What the fuck, Jimmy?" There was a sickening sound of snapping bones. "Why do I gotta do all the heavy lifting?"

"I can't kill them," James hissed out from between clenched teeth. It was the uniforms, he realized. The HYDRA troops he'd fought in the future wore generic combat gear, trying _not_ to be obviously HYDRA, so he'd been able to treat them like any other target. These men wore the HYDRA symbol openly and proudly, unmistakable for anything but what they were. 

Zola had trained him too well, with far too much pain. Anything with that symbol on it was sacrosanct, his animal hindbrain terrifyingly certain that to harm it would mean days of agonizing torture.

"The hell's wrong with you?" Rory demanded, scowling. "We ain't gonna get very far if you can't fucking hurt 'em."

"I know that," James snapped back. "I'll figure it out. We need to move, we're wasting time. They're due to check in on the other side of their patrol arc in less than five minutes. For now, I'll incapacitate and you finish them off." Clearly he could do that much, at least. It was only the irreversible final step he couldn't take.

If he could harm, then he _could_ kill. It was just a matter of convincing his subconscious that to do so would be worth the pain. Maybe holding tight to the fact that he was _rescuing Len_ would be enough to allow him to make that choice.

The original plan called for them to split up and head around the perimeter in opposite directions, clearing out the rest of the sentries before anyone realized the first two were missing. Instead, they now had to move together in one direction, disabling the patrols as quickly as possible. They barely made it; as they approached the last one, he'd already realized the first sentry had missed the check-in, and was reaching for his radio to report the problem.

James was forced to break cover and rush the man, using his inhuman speed to reach the guard and smash the radio out of his hand, before grappling him securely. Rory caught up a moment later and snapped the man’s neck. This time James was able to watch it happen, though he still had to fight the urge to jump in and protect the bastard. 

"We got lucky." James dropped the dead guard. Their odds had been bad enough when he'd calculated them assuming that he would be a fully functioning part of this rescue attempt. Nobody sane would bet on their success now that he was effectively hamstrung.

Worse, it had just occurred to him that even if he overcame the compulsion not to harm a HYDRA agent, he might well be facing Zola himself at some point during this rescue. Harming Zola in _any_ way would likely be impossible for him to do.

Yet retreat was simply not an option. Not while Zola held Len and Bucky in his foul grasp.

"Let's move," James said, turning to jog in the direction of the base itself. "We've got half an hour before one of them is supposed to check in with their sergeant."

"You're the one slowing us up," Rory pointed out with a characteristic lack of sympathy. 

Oddly, it was exactly what James needed. HYDRA would have no hesitation taking advantage of his weakness, so he couldn't allow himself to indulge in them. 

The hurdle of the perimeter guards turned out to be the most difficult obstacle they had to overcome. Though on paper, the protocols were in place to ensure tight security throughout the base, the troopers within had grown lazy and complacent. They trusted in the sentries and the mechanical alarm systems to warn them of incoming problems. Doubtless by now word had reached them of the injuries dealt to the Commandos, and so they believed themselves safe for the moment.

Many of the 'secure' facilities James had broken into throughout his career as an assassin had been breached not because he was that good at getting through security measures - though he was - but because of simple human nature. Even fanatics couldn't stay at high alert forever, and wanted to take a break whenever they could.

One by one, he and Rory picked off guards and idle troops. They surprised five men who were supposed to be guarding the ammunition storage, in the midst of a card game of some sort, weapons set aside for comfort. 

"At least the laziness confirms Schmidt isn't here," James commented. When the Red Skull was in the base, no trooper dared do anything but devote himself utterly to the cause. Any hint of slacking would be punished with death, and the man in question would be lucky if it was a swift end.

"People're dumb," Rory agreed, tossing the last of the bodies onto the pile at the side of the small room, so they could open the door to the storage. "Let's get those explosives." 

Despite his contempt for the typical behaviour of guards left unsupervised, James couldn't help but feel that things were going far too easily. Then he cursed himself for tempting fate with that thought, because in the next moment, the screaming started.

The sound was distant, possibly not even audible to Rory's un-Enhanced senses, but unmistakable. James had heard screams like that far, far too many times before. Usually, they rang in his ears from much closer.

Because they were his. Zola was hurting Bucky.

"Son of a bitch." James exploded toward the ammunition storage exit, calling back over his shoulder to Rory. "Get those charges set and meet me at the rendezvous. I'm going after Len and my past self. There's no time left."

Rory called something after him, but James was already too far to hear, all his attention focused on the direction those screams were coming from. Up. Left. Up more. His scars throbbed in sympathetic agony, body conditioned to associate the sound of his screams with intense pain. Gritting his teeth, James ignored it, and kept going.

The urgent need to rescue his past self finally smashed through the last of his subconscious aversion to harming HYDRA agents. Anyone who came within sight of him died moments later, James quickly and ruthlessly breaking necks and smashing skulls in. He didn't use his gun, not wanting to bring more troops running to the sound, and unsure if the arms-length distance of trying to aim would cause him problems again.

The screaming stopped before he reached the source, but James was certain he was at least on the same level of the base. He started checking each room, breaking through doors when necessary, and knew he was right when he found lab equipment and half-finished experimental weapons in each. 

More guards came running at the noise he made, and James was finally forced to draw his gun and start shooting in order to keep up with the flood of enemies. He held the mental image of Len firmly in his mind's eye, and this time had no issues pulling the trigger.

At the far end of the corridor, a clump of soldiers hurried out of a room and away from him. James thought he caught a glimpse of light reflected off glasses, at about the height Zola would be, and knew the cowardly scientist was fleeing. 

Of course. He had no way to know that James would be unable to harm him, and was running from what appeared to be a very dangerous threat. Heartened, James slaughtered his way through the remaining guards, and burst into the room Zola had exited.

He found Bucky strapped to the table within, IVs dripping fluid into his arms, eyes closed and muscles tense against pain. James pushed aside a moment of frustration that he hadn't found Len first. As badly as he wanted to make sure his lover suffered as little as possible, rescuing his past self was just as important.

It wasn't immediately obvious what had caused Bucky to scream, but James knew from experience that it must have been _something_ serious. They hadn't broken him easily.

"I've got you," he said, grabbing the first restraining strap and ripping it free of the table. The leather was no match for James' Enhanced strength, even without the boost of his left arm.

"Steve?" Bucky's eyes opened and he looked up at James, clearly dazed. No surprise he'd think it was his best friend coming to the rescue, not when Steve had already saved him from this exact situation once before.

"Sorry. Wrong supersoldier," James told him, ripping more straps free. "You'll have to settle for me."

Bucky blinked a couple of times, then shook his head, and sense slowly seeped into his eyes. "It's you. James, right? Did you find your fella?"

Len had told Bucky about their relationship? James wasn't entirely sure how he felt about that. Then again, Len had never allowed anyone to shame him into hiding who he was, not since he'd broken free of his asshole of a father, so it wasn't a surprise. At least Bucky didn't seem repulsed by the idea.

"Not yet," he answered the question, as the last restraint came free. It was the one across Bucky's ankles, and he finally saw what had made his past self cry out. The soles of his feet were in tatters, and while some of the cuts and abrasions were a day old and infected, the deepest cuts were still freshly bleeding. "You're not gonna be able to walk."

"No shit." Bucky was trying for his usual flippant good cheer, and _almost_ making it. He tore the IVs out of his arms, uncaring for any damage, and James couldn't blame him. He'd want that crap out of his body as quickly as possible, too. "Zola took Len first. The idiot pushed himself in front of me, deliberately drew Zola's attention to protect me."

Ordinarily that would be a rather unbelievable description of Len's behaviour. He wasn't the self-sacrificing type - except when it came to the people he cared about. Since Bucky was James, it wasn't surprising he'd be on that list.

"How long ago?" he demanded, chills running down his spine. How long had Zola been tormenting his lover? He hadn't heard Len screaming - could he be dead already?

"Not that long before he came back for me," Bucky replied. "Shouldn't've been that fast, I don't know what went wrong. Leave me, go find him. I'll just slow you down."

James flipped his gun and offered it grip-first to Bucky, who took it with a grim expression. It was clear he thought James was arming him before leaving, and he made a very startled sound when James then scooped him up, bridal-style. 

"Nobody's getting left behind," James told him. "You're gonna have to shoot anyone that comes at us while my hands are occupied.

Bucky gave him a sharp grin,. "With great pleasure."

James kicked the door to the lab outward, forcing it against the direction of its hinges and slamming it against the wall on the other side of the hall. The move took the HYDRA troops who'd been waiting beyond by surprise, and gave Bucky the opening he needed to empty half the clip into the men.

"Damn, I'm in love with this gun," Bucky said. "Never felt action that smooth. Can I keep it?"

"No." James made his tone as implacable as possible. The Legends had learned the hard way not to leave _any_ tech behind. The basic design of pistols hadn't advanced that much, it wouldn't be anything like Ray losing a piece of his Atom suit, but there was no point in taking the risk.

It took two more kicked in doors before they finally found Len strapped to a similar table. James hissed between his teeth and set Bucky down on a nearby counter, then moved to his lover. This time he got the IVs out first, though it was clear they'd already had plenty of time for the drugs to set in. Len was mumbling to himself, rambling disjointedly and probably not even aware he was speaking out loud.

When James loomed over him, Len blinked and gave him a smile that was so blatantly sweet it nearly staggered him. He'd never seen an expression like that on Len's face, completely unguarded and affectionate. "Bout time you got here," Len scolded him cheerfully, the words slurred but understandable. "I knew you'd come."

While James was still reeling from the impact of that trusting smile, Len reached up his newly freed hands to twine around James' neck, pulling him down as if for a kiss. Of course his lips met nothing but the metal mask, and he grunted and made a face. "Ugh. Why are you wearing that thing? I want to kiss you."

"Because we're not alone, idiot." James wanted very badly to tear the mask off and kiss his lover senseless as well, but even aside from the fact that Bucky was watching, this was neither the time nor the place.

"Oh right, your past self," Len blurted out, with a tone of chagrin that he'd forgotten. "He's around here somewhere, Zola's got him, heard him screaming... sounds just like your nightmares..."

Growling, James clamped his hand over Len's mouth before the other man could let anything else slip. Hopefully Bucky would write off the weirdness as due to drugged rambling. "He's right next to us, idiot," James muttered. "Maybe you'd better just stay quiet for now, yeah?"

Clearly abashed, Len nodded. It was strange how open and easy his expressions were to read, under the influence of the drug. James knew his lover would be horrified if he realized. Hopefully, it would wear off before they reached the Waverider again. If not, James might just find a reason to delay.

Pulling away, he checked Len over quickly for visible damage, and growled when he found Len's feet weren't in great shape, either. Not as bad as Bucky's, but enough that it would be agony to walk. "Damn it. I can't carry both of you." Maybe if he tossed each of them over one shoulder, but that would leave all three of them unable to shoot back at any enemies.

"You alone?" Len asked, pushing himself up to a sitting position. He blinked, stared at James, shook his head, and stared again. His eyebrows shot up. "What the fuck happened to your arm?"

"Rory's setting charges to blow the base on our way out." James ignored the other question, not wanting to explain with Bucky right there. Ducking back into the hall, he got the shirt and boots off one of the dead guards. Much as he’d hate seeing his lover in a HYDRA uniform, there was no way Len would want to walk out of there with his scarred chest bare to the world.

He did take a moment to rip the actual HYDRA insignia off, at least. 

Len grimaced when James offered him the clothes, but accepted them. Bucky hadn’t been stripped down, so he was fine other than the lack of boots. No point grabbing any for him, not with his feet _so_ badly damaged.

While Len dressed, James activated his comm. "Heat Wave, what's your twenty?" When he got only a confused grunt in return, James sighed. "Where are you right now?"

"Plantin’ the bombs, where the hell else? Fried a coupla Nazi assholes who tried to stop me, but not many so far."

"Change of plans," James told him. "Meet us at the south side of the third floor, or as close to it as you can. They're both injured, I need help getting them out."

A dark rumble expressed Rory's opinion of Len being hurt. "Yeah, fine. Got two more to set, then I'll be there."

Bucky had been sitting on the counter this whole time, listening and watching with a glazed expression, but nowhere near as out of it as Len. Seeing James glance his way, he frowned. "Who the hell were you talking to?"

"Radio," James answered curtly, not caring that it would seem like impossible tech to Bucky. At this point, their cover was so well and truly blown, the only thing that would make it worse was Bucky seeing his face. "Len, think you can make it until we meet up with Rory? We're sitting ducks in here."

"I'll manage." Len was grim but determined. James unslung the cold gun from his back and offered it to him. Len's eyes lit up as he cradled the weapon, checking it over for damage, then flipped the switch to charge the core. "Aww, you give me the most romantic presents. Let's go find some HYDRA bastards for me to freeze, and I'll be over the moon."

"You ready?" James asked Bucky, who nodded and tightened his grip on the pistol James had given him. James picked him up again, making sure most of the weight was on his right arm - the left was just as strong, but it _felt_ weaker without the mechanical augmentation. Plus, this way Bucky's right hand was free to aim better.

Len led the way, his steps a wincing shuffle, but he kept his gun held steady. James' instincts screamed at him that he shouldn't be putting his wounded lover in front, where he was in danger from the first shot, but the reality was that Len was better able to defend himself right now than James was with his arms full.

Besides, with the cold gun in hand, James would put money on his lover against any number of HYDRA troops. Now he just had to pray they wouldn't run across Zola, because James was desperately afraid he might be compelled to protect the little weasel, and...

_...why in God's name would he ever protect Zola, he'd been killing HYDRA for a decade and wasn't about to stop now, so..._

The unexpected confusion made James stagger, blindsided by a thought that was his, but didn't feel like his. Bucky's weight seemed to multiply a dozen times over, and James crashed to his knees, letting Bucky fall to the ground in a painful tumble despite his best efforts to hang on.

"James?" Len's voice, wild and concerned. His lover's hand landed on his left shoulder, cool from the gun, holding James steady as he reeled. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know, it's..." James shuddered as he realized the truth. The serum was gone. _The serum was gone_ , he was as vulnerable as any normal human, all the more so because he...

_...never had serum, what the fuck was wrong with him, Steve was the one who'd been enhanced, not him..._

Memories that weren't his, but were. His arm gone, and now the serum. Feeling sick, James understood what was happening. They were in the process of rescuing Bucky, which meant the future where Bucky still became the Winter Soldier but didn't lose his arm was no longer going to happen. Instead, Bucky's injuries were going to make it impossible for him to go on the train mission, and he would never fall to his 'death'.

The choice about whether or not to change history and save himself had just been made for him. Bucky Barnes was never going to become the Winter Soldier.

'James' would never exist.


	14. Chapter 14

When James stumbled and went down hard, Len's only thought was that someone had attacked them. He looked around wildly, but there was no threat he could spot. "James? What's wrong?"

"I don't know, it's..." James shuddered, panic written all over his face, breaking through his normally stoic expression. His eyes had gone wide with what sure as hell looked like terror.

And then Len realized he could _see James' face_. The mask and goggles had disappeared. So had the one-armed jacket and most of his arsenal, leaving him in battered fatigues that looked vintage, but not the same as the WW2 uniforms, and a single holster for the pistol Bucky was holding.

Speaking of Bucky, the man was gaping at James in shock and disbelief. Small wonder, seeing his own face revealed from beneath the mask. "What the _fuck_?" Bucky exclaimed, swinging the gun to aim at James like he thought this was some kind of attack. "What the _hell_ is going on?"

"Get that gun out of my partner's face before I freeze it to your hand and shatter both," Len growled. He liked Bucky, but right now all his focus was on protecting his suddenly vulnerable lover. Crouching before James, Len caught his chin with one hand and lifted it to meet his gaze, though he kept a wary eye on Bucky behind him. "James? Talk to me."

Bucky made a frustrated noise, but tipped the gun up so it was at least no longer pointed at them. For his part, James seemed to be stunned breathless, and Len had never seen him look so frightened.

"It's gone," James finally ground out. "The serum is gone."

Bucky's expression turned nearly as horrified as James'. "It can _wear off_? Christ, I've gotta warn Steve!"

"No. It's not..." Squeezing his eyes shut, James shook his head as if trying to clear it, yanking his chin free of Len's grip. When he opened them again, he sat up properly, but he was swaying. He ignored Bucky, speaking directly to Len. "Knock him out."

Knowing they couldn't discuss this in front of James' past self, Len swung around and aimed a punch at Bucky's jaw before the other man realized what he intended. Bucky's eyes went wide and he tried to bring the gun back around, but Len had caught him by surprise. No stranger to a street brawl, Len packed a mean punch, and Bucky went down for the count.

Guilt nibbled at him, but Len knew there had been no way around it. This was already enough of a clusterfuck, and he and James needed to be able to speak freely. "What _happened_?"

"History's changing," James replied grimly. "When you were captured, I lost the metal arm, but was still the Winter Soldier. They would have broken me starting now, instead of a month from now, and otherwise nothing would have changed. Now we're rescuing him, but he's too injured to go on the mission where they'd capture him again."

"Shit." This was bad. "What's with the fatigues?"

James looked down at his clothes, uncomprehending for a long moment, then winced. "I think this is what I die in. The... Korean War? The memories are still random and fragmented. Rip said physical changes come first, like Stein's wedding ring when he screwed up meeting his wife. Changed memories trickle in as the timeline gels. Once it's set..."

"You'll die." Chills ran down Len's spine as he finally understood the true scope of the disaster. It wasn't only that Bucky would never become James, never meet Len. Bucky would be dead before Len was even born, if he’d been killed in the Korean War. "What the hell are we supposed to do, leave him here to be broken?"

"We do that, Steve will never stop trying to rescue me," James pointed out. "The Allies might lose the whole damn war to HYDRA. If that happens, I still might never meet the Rogues, because HYDRA will have been in power all that time. Steve would have been long dead, trying to fight them, and there'd be nothing to shake me free of them."

Which was certainly _not_ a better outcome. There was no way Len would risk leaving James trapped in the hell of being the Winter Soldier forever. "God damn it."

"If we don't get outta here, it's gonna be a moot point," James said, raking a hand through his hair. Without gel to slick it back, the bangs were falling into his eyes...

Bangs? Len blinked as he realized James' hair was short, styled like Bucky's. It had still been long a moment ago, hadn't it? He couldn't remember. If changes were happening this fast, it was a very bad sign.

Raising his voice, Len shouted as loud as he could. Any troops in the area already knew exactly where their little group was, but it seemed like they'd cleared out the enemies for the moment. "Mick! Where the hell are you?"

"Here!" 

The answering shout was distant and muffled, but a minute later Len heard the heavy clomp of booted feet on the stairs down the hall. He swung the cold gun up to aim at the door, just in case, but it was indeed Mick who pushed through a moment later.

His partner stopped in the doorway, surveying the three of them for a long moment, scowl etched deep on his face. "What happened to you guys?"

"More timeline fuckery," Len answered him. "You carry Barnes. I'll help James. We need to get the hell out of here."

"Charges set?" James asked, clambering awkwardly to his feet with the help of a hand on the wall. He wobbled, then seemed to steady himself, but it was clear he wasn't going to make it far under his own power. Likely his mind was confused trying to direct a body that no longer matched the shape and strength it was expecting.

"Yeah." With a grunt, Mick heaved the unconscious Bucky up over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, arms and legs dangling awkwardly.

"Well, Mick, you've finally completed the set," Len remarked with a grin as he slipped under James' arm, offering support. He was trying to lighten the mood, and sighed when both of his partners looked back at him blankly. "You're carrying James." It was a running joke among the crew that Mick had carried almost all of them at one point or another.

There was a betting pool about when - or if - Mick would ever carry James, and how it would happen. Sara and Len had both bet on it being a past self, knowing it was unlikely modern James would ever be incapacitated to that extent. Len also had the inside knowledge of how damn _heavy_ James was; between the incredibly dense muscle tissue and the weight of the metal arm, he wasn't sure Mick would even be able to lift the man.

The version of James currently leaning against Len felt small and fragile in comparison. His coordination improved as they went, but he remained shaky. Probably felt as weak as if he'd risen from a sickbed after a month of debilitating illness.

"We'll figure something out," Len murmured, not sure if he was trying to reassure James, or himself. How much time did they have, before history gelled into its new shape? What the hell could they do to prevent it?

* * *

It was a minor miracle they made it as far as they did before the shit hit the fan, but James knew it was inevitable. Without his Enhanced senses, it felt like he was viewing the world through a muffling shroud, but Len went stiff in reaction to _something_ when they hit the bottom of the stairs. A moment later James heard it too, the stamp of booted feet rushing toward their position.

"They've made us," Len growled. "We're going to have to go out fighting. James, think you can walk on your own yet?"

"I'll handle it." They needed Len's hands free to wield his weapon, and his movements unhampered. Bad enough that Mick couldn't put Bucky down, and James was going to slow them considerably. He pulled away from Len, grateful when he didn't need to steady himself against the wall, and drew the pistol he'd retrieved from Bucky.

The weight of it seemed unbelievably heavy in his hand. He'd forgotten how much effort it took to lift and hold his service revolver one-handed. His aim was undoubtedly going to be off, depth perception and muscle memory affected by the change, but mind still expecting the Winter Soldier’s ability level. If nothing else, he could provide covering fire.

God, how humiliating. Even before he'd become the Fist of HYDRA, Bucky Barnes had been by far the best shot in the 107th, maybe one of the best in the Army. Now he was reduced to firing like someone who couldn't be trusted to hit the target, let alone the bullseye.

Behind him came the whine of Rory's heat gun charging. Heat Wave had no trouble wielding single-handed when necessary, even though his weapon was much larger and heavier than James'. "Can I burn something yet?" the pyro demanded.

"There's no point in trying for stealth, and it's going to take everything we've got to get out of here in one piece. You can burn whatever you like," Len promised him with a smirk.

Rory's expression turned sly and speculative. "Anything?"

James had a pretty good suspicion where Rory's mind had turned. "Anything but the four of us." The way the big man's expression turned cross told him he'd been right. _Probably_ Rory wouldn't have actually burned James or Bucky. But he might have scorched James a bit, for the hell of it. At the moment, James' system couldn't handle any more stress, and he was without his usual healing abilities.

"On my mark," Len said, positioning himself beside the door. Rory stood on the other side, and James took shelter on the stair landing above the line of sight from the door. "Three. Two. One. Go!"

He kicked the door open, and a hail of automatic weapons fire slammed through the space. Since they'd all known better than to stand in the open like idiots, none of them were shot, though ricochets and chips of concrete from the walls quickly became almost as much of a danger. Crouching low, beneath where the enemy was aiming, Len ducked around the doorjamb and sprayed the area with his cold gun.

Dismayed and shocked shouts came from without, and the hail of gunfire stopped as the enemy scrambled to regroup from the unexpected freeze. Len burst through the door, still firing. Rory was right behind him, flaming wildly from side to side with his gun. 

Bucky followed as quickly as he could, shooting toward the HYDRA troops whenever they poked their heads up above the crates they'd used for cover. He missed, but was grimly pleased to see that each shot got closer than the last, as he began to adapt. That ability to learn and quickly shift his aim was what had made the Army tap him for sniper training in the first place.

One of the HYDRA fire-thrower units clumped out around a corner, the heavily armoured suit protecting the man from Bucky’s bullets, and the bursts of flame from his dual weapons melting Len's ice into steam long before the cold gun's stream reached him.

Rory's eyes lit up. "I got this!" he roared, and charged toward the fire-thrower. As his many scars attested, Mick Rory was unafraid of even the most severe burns. The fact that he was carrying Bucky's younger self, who would also get burned, clearly didn't matter to him in the least.

The fire-thrower hadn't expected an enemy to come barreling straight at him, and it threw him off. He backpedaled hastily, swinging his guns from side to side to try to strafe Rory, but Heat Wave kept coming.

The heat gun designed by Cisco Ramon in the future proved to be far superior to the flamethrower developed by Arnim Zola. Before Rory was close enough to get more than light burns on his skin and make his clothes smoulder, the heat gun's fiery beam reached the fuel canister carried on the HYDRA soldier's back. It blew up in a spectacular column of flame, so hot at the center it burned blue as it consumed the screaming man.

Meanwhile Len had frozen limbs off at least three more troops, laughing like the maniac he was. The HYDRA goons were scrambling back, uncertain how to deal with the power of the heat and cold guns. For a moment, James thought the Rogues would actually make it out without any further problems.

Then Zola appeared on the catwalk above, out of reach of the short range specialized guns, and too far for Bucky to be able to hit with accuracy. "Stop them," Zola commanded. "Do not allow them to leave!"

The nearest HYDRA goon muttered something in German that Bucky was pretty sure was the equivalent of 'easy for you to say'. But he popped out from behind the crate he was using for cover, switched his gun to fully automatic, and started to strafe the area.

The gunfire was wild, but it didn't need to be precise to hit someone at this range, and Len was the first one in the man's strafing path. Without letting himself _think_ about it, James brought his pistol up and fired, straight into the instant kill zone between the man's eyes. 

Then Bucky stared in astonishment, because he wasn't _that_ good a shot. Yet, James knew perfectly well that he _was_ that good. The dissonance was jarring as his creeping new memories warred with the slowly fading old ones.

Zola was running out of troops to throw at them. There should have been many more in the base, but Bucky had a suspicion most were staying out of sight, 'busy' keeping other locations secure. Even fanatics didn't _want_ to die, at least not most of them. Too bad for them, the moment Rory pushed the detonator switch they'd be going up in a fiery blaze of glory.

Lifting his pistol, Bucky pointed the barrel at Zola. James could aim well enough to line up the shot, but couldn't pull the trigger. Bucky couldn't aim at that distance without a sniper rifle, but had not a single instant of hesitation about killing the sadistic HYDRA scientist. 

If Zola died here, the Valkyrie and bombs wouldn't be completed. It wouldn't matter that without Bucky's death, Steve wouldn't be driven hard enough to find the final base 'in time'. Perhaps the Red Skull's forces would last longer than they otherwise might, a drawn-out war of attrition rather than a single pitched battle that was all-or-nothing, but eventually HYDRA would fall, and fall completely. Zola would never rebuild HYDRA within SHIELD. Steve wouldn't 'die' in the Arctic. There would never be a Winter Soldier.

The world would be safe. Bucky and Steve would both get to live out the lives they _should_ have had.

"James." Len's voice was rough, and James looked over to see his lover struggling to keep a blank expression. He failed miserably, pain and grief and rage flitting through his eyes. "I should tell you to do it. To change things for the better. But goddamn it, I'm not the hero you are. I am not that fucking selfless. _Don't leave me_!"

The words were a punch to the chest, straight into his heart. James nearly staggered under the weight of them, overflowing with boiling emotions of his own. For the first time, he was Bucky enough to recognize what they truly _meant_. 

Growling, he fired the pistol. Zola staggered back, clutching at his chest - out of fear, not pain. James had put the bullet very precisely into the wall next to the scientist's head, making his choice once and for all. "Run, Zola," the shredded remnants of the Winter Soldier snarled. "Run as fast and as far as you can. I'm coming for you."

Truly terrified in the way that only an utter coward can be, Zola fled.


	15. Chapter 15

Len made most of the trip back to the Waverider in a daze. He remained focused enough to watch their flanks, cold gun held at the ready, but his mind was churning too fast for any individual thought to register. He couldn't quite convince himself that what he'd seen was actually what had happened.

James had stayed for him.

 _James had stayed for him_. Len was well aware he'd made a selfish ass of himself, pleading with his lover not to save himself, to choose their relationship over a life free of torture and agony. But he'd asked - begged, if he was being honest - and James had listened.

 _ **James had stayed for him**_. 

No matter how many times he repeated it, the reality refused to sink in. There was still the issue of somehow getting Bucky back onto that train mission, and that wasn't an easy hurdle to get over, but at least it was _possible_. If Zola were dead, that would be the end of it.

"How is he still unconscious?" Len asked as the Waverider came into view, taking a closer look at Bucky flopping over Mick's shoulder. Mick had shifted him into a fireman's carry once they were away from the base, but surely the jarring should have shaken him awake. "Could it be a drug reaction?"

"Probably at least partly," James agreed. "But I'd have expected him to be waking up by now."

"He started to kick 'bout a mile back," Rory told them, a sly smirk on his face. "I knocked him out again."

James muttered something under his breath, but apparently decided not to make a fuss. Since it served their purposes for Bucky to still be out of it, Len decided not to scold Mick either. Hopefully, Mick hadn't given the man a serious concussion on top of his other injuries. 

As far as Len’s injuries went… he was trying very hard not to read too much into the fact that he’d stopped limping a while back. Though his feet were still sore, they no longer felt badly swollen. Nor was he as tired as he’d expected to be after a long hike on top of the excitement of the last few days.

Whatever Zola’s drug might have done to him, Len would worry about it _later_. Maybe Gideon could undo it, if there were potential harmful effects. Right now, the only thing that mattered was making sure James lived, and Len healing a little faster than usual meant they were making better time to the Waverider.

Rip met them at the top of the ramp, scowling at Bucky in Mick's arms. "Gentlemen..."

"Don't start," James said, with a weary sigh. "We're doing what we have to do. Either help, or get out of our way."

It wasn't even close to the growl Len would have expected from him under these circumstances. He butted heads with Rip on a regular basis, but was usually much more intense about it. 

Because it wasn't James who was arguing with Rip, Len realized with a deep sense of unease. It was Bucky. Calm and reasonable, still headstrong but without the dark streak of ingrained violence that James eternally struggled against.

Rip's startled expression suggested he'd noticed the difference, as well. Len preempted the question he could see written on the Brit's face. "Another timeline change," Len told him, tone short and impatient. "Now that we've rescued Bucky, he won't become the Winter Soldier early, but he's too injured to make it to the mission that _would_ have left him in HYDRA's hands."

"He needs healing, and he needs it fast enough to be cleared to go back on active duty immediately," James agreed. "The only way that's gonna happen is Gideon. Right now, I don't have the serum. Can she use me as a base template to heal him?"

"Of course," Gideon's ever-cheerful voice broke in. "That should be simple enough. However, you may have a difficult time explaining how that healing came about."

"I'm working on that." James ran a hand through his short hair, what appeared to be the replacement for fisting his left hand as a thinking gesture. "I'll come up with something before he wakes up. In the meantime..." He gasped and stumbled, one hand pressed to the side of his chest, just below his heart.

"James?" Len leapt forward to grab his elbow and help steady him. "Are you all right?"

For one moment, James' blue eyes stared through him with an utter lack of recognition. Len had seen that look on his lover's face before, when HYDRA had captured him and wiped his mind clean. In a way, this was even more chilling, because all of James’ - Bucky's - personality was still there, just not the memory of his lover.

Then James shook his head hard, and when he refocused, his gaze was fastened on Len with the desperation of a drowning man clinging to a life buoy. "Not sure. My chest hurts."

"Records now show that Captain James Buchanan Barnes was killed by a gunshot wound to the lower left chest, in early 1953," Gideon put in helpfully. "Likely what you're feeling is the oncoming end of the temporal discrepancy. In other words, time is catching up to you."

And as soon as it did, James would die. Even if they fixed history after that, there was no guarantee that the James who reappeared would be the same one they'd lost. Once an altered timeline gelled, history was permanently _changed_. Further rewrites were their own new timelines, not the return of an old one.

Frankly, even if the new James turned out to be similar enough to the old one, Len didn't think he could stand to watch his lover suffer and die. It would break something inside him that couldn't be repaired.

"Just fix the fucker already," Mick grumbled, stomping up the ramp and pushing past Rip. "Stop whining about it and do it."

Rubbing a hand over his face, Rip sighed and gave in. "Yes, very well. Bring him to the infirmary. We'll figure something out."

* * *

It took Gideon nearly an hour to heal Bucky enough to assure the timeline would be restored. Len spent that whole time hovering over James, feeling his heart crack deeper every time 'Bucky' forgot who Len was, lost in his new memories. So far, James kept managing to wrench himself free, but it took longer and lasted less with each repetition.

In the end, Sara was the one who came up with the solution for how to fool the original Bucky. Len filled her in on the whole truth because he suspected she already knew who James really was, and because she was fiendishly clever at getting out of tight spots. 

She thought about the problem for a long moment, then shrugged. "So prove to him that what he thought he saw wasn't what he actually saw."

"Except it was," James pointed out. He was slouched casually in a chair in the library, turned sideways in it with one arm slung along the back. Not a posture Len would ever have expected to find his lover in. The way his eyes lingered on Sara, checking her out with interest, grated harshly on Len's nerves.

Sara grinned at them. "Just because something's the truth doesn't mean you can't prove it's wrong."

Which was how Len found himself standing beside Bucky fifteen minutes later, watching as the younger man slowly woke from the sedative Gideon had given him. Bucky blinked his eyes and turned his head slowly, clearly groggy. When he saw Len, he struggled to sit up more. "Hey. You okay? Shit, where did Zola take us now?"

Following Bucky's panicked gaze around the infirmary, Len could see why the man would assume this was yet another HYDRA lab. "Calm down, you're safe. This is the infirmary of my team's ship. It was closer to the HYDRA base than the Commandos' encampment, so we came here first."

For a moment he thought perhaps Bucky had forgotten about seeing James entirely. That would solve their problem neatly. But then Bucky shook his head, squared his shoulders, and gave Len a much sharper look. "You wanna explain why the fuck some guy with my face came after us?"

Luckily for everyone concerned, Len was a consummate liar and an excellent con artist. He didn't bat an eyelash as he put on a very convincing expression of deep concern. "Yeah, you said something about that, right before you started waving your gun around at _us_. I think you must have started hallucinating from whatever crap Zola had put in your system." He gave a sympathetic smile. "Sorry about the bruise on your jaw. It seemed better to knock you out until you'd recovered than have you shooting at us while we were trying to escape."

Looking thoroughly disconcerted, Bucky rubbed at his jaw, and winced as he encountered the goose bump left behind by Len's punch. Gideon had left just enough of the damage unhealed to be convincing, but not so much that it would keep him on the injured list. Likewise, Bucky's feet were bruised and had a few minor cuts, with no trace of infection, and should heal in plenty of time for the train mission.

The only thing left was convincing Bucky not to go back bearing tales of an imposter with his face, which Gideon said would cause the Army to pull Bucky out of the fighting for psychiatric evaluation. He would pass it, backed up by Steve's confirmation that Bucky had never been sent back to the camp for intel about Savage, but it would take too long.

"I know what a hallucination feels like," Bucky protested, but he sounded much less certain than he had been a moment before. "I know what I saw, damn it."

At that moment, James entered the room. Gideon had re-synthesized his Winter Soldier gear, mask and all, though the jacket had both sleeves this time to hide the loss of his metal arm. He turned his goggled gaze toward Bucky. "What's more likely?" he asked, his voice distorted by the mask. "That you dreamed it, or that I look exactly the same as you? I never took my mask off. Believe me, you'd remember if I had."

Again, that seemed to throw Bucky. He made a frustrated sound. "Yeah? Then how 'bout you take it off now and prove it?"

"You won't like what you see," James warned him. When Bucky only stared at him defiantly, James sighed and reached up with his right hand to pull off the mask and goggles.

Beneath was a hideous, twisted parody of a human face. Sara had outdone herself; with a makeup kit that looked more like it belonged to a special effects artist than a former socialite, she'd used Jonah Hex for inspiration and made it look like James' face had _melted_. Apparently, James had already convinced Captain America that the serum had done something to make his face hideous, so that would support their story nicely.

"Oh, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," Bucky swore, and looked away quickly. He swallowed hard, like he was resisting the urge to gag. "Shit. I'm sorry. Christ, Len, no wonder you didn't blink twice at my scars."

Half expecting that comment to earn him a sharp look from his lover, Len glanced over, but James didn't seem bothered. Probably, Len realized with a gut-deep stab of pain, because James didn't remember that he should care whether or not Len had seen another man naked.

If they were convincing Bucky, shouldn't the timeline have reverted? James had lost the mask mere minutes after they'd rescued Bucky from the lab, before they even made it out of the base. Was it already too late?

No, if it was too late, James would be dead. But fuck, they were pushing it. What else was left to fix?

Getting him back to the Commandos, without seeing anything incriminating on the ship. "Our doctor says the drugs aren't quite out of your system yet," Len lied, hoping Gideon would pick up on his cue. "You're likely to stay groggy for a while, even fall asleep again."

"What? No, I feel... fine..." Bucky shook his head again, then yawned. Gideon must have subtly gassed him with something. "Crap, maybe not. Fuck, I need to get back to the Commandos."

"That's the plan," Len assured him. "You can sleep like a baby and ride the supersoldier express. It's been a pleasure knowing you, Bucky. Maybe we'll meet again someday." The irony of his words put a wry twist into Len’s smile.

"You... too..." Bucky yawned again, his eyes dragging closed despite his clear efforts to keep them open. "Damn it..."

Then he was dead to the world, soundly asleep.

Just in time, because James made a horrible pained sound and crashed to his knees, clutching at his left arm. Panicked, Len dropped down beside him, reaching to brace his right shoulder. "James? What is it?"

"My arm, fuck, it's..." Another wrenching moan, and James shuddered so hard that Len half wondered if he was having some kind of seizure. When it passed, James frantically grabbed the sleeve of his leather jacket, and tore it off with deceptive ease.

Revealing the gleaming metal beneath.

"Oh, thank god," Len exclaimed. It had worked. James was James again. Reaching out, Len caught him by the chin and tipped his head up for a fierce, triumphant kiss.

For a moment James resisted, and Len's heart nearly stopped. Then suddenly James was kissing back, tongue in Len's mouth, right hand cupping the back of Len's head to hold him close, and chilled metal fingers running down the side of his throat.

Only when he absolutely _had_ to breathe did Len pull back with a gasp. James didn't let him go far, inches only. That was when Len realized James had hauled Len bodily into his lap, Len's knees on either side of James' hips, their groins pressed tight together. 

Giddy with relief and stunned amazement, Len framed James' face with both hands, uncaring of the hideous makeup. "Welcome back," he greeted his best guy, and leaned in for another kiss.


	16. Chapter 16

Though returning Bucky to the Commandos went off without a hitch, Rip’s prediction had come to pass, and rumours of the presence of the Legends had clearly reached Savage. The bastard had huddled up in his fortified base, pulling all his people in, and there was no way for the Legends to reach him. They’d given up, and were moving on to the next possible ambush point.

Len was tucked away in the observation room, a tiny nook of the ship that had a floor-to-ceiling view of the world outside. When they were in flight through the timestream, as now, the view was one of streaking stars and shifting colours, like something out of a Star Trek episode. 

It was one of James’ favourite places on the ship. For a man born in a time when science fiction was rare and travel among the stars was barely beginning to be contemplated, the view of all of time and space slipping by had to be even more fantastical than for the rest of them.

By default, it had also therefore become one of Len’s favourite places. At the moment he was alone, staring out at the timestream sliding by, thoughts churning. Gideon confirmed that Zola’s serum had done _something_ to Len. It was a ‘failed’ batch, he was _nowhere_ near James’ supersoldier status, let alone Captain America’s. The differences were far more subtle. 

But they existed. 

He’d asked her to keep quiet about it for now. Len was under no delusions that she wouldn’t tell Rip, but the captain _probably_ wouldn’t spill to the rest of the crew unless it became necessary for some reason. The question was whether Len wanted her to remove the effects. 

And whether he wanted James to know it had ever happened. It was clear that James blamed himself for the fact that Len had been hurt by Zola in the first place, just as Len had known he would. The slight increase in Len’s strength, durability, and healing could potentially be very useful, but if James knew, it would constantly rub his nose in the fact that he’d ‘failed’ to protect his lover.

The door slid open, and Len glanced over his shoulder to see the very man in question enter the room. James still wasn’t entirely back to normal, either. His gait was looser than usual, posture more relaxed, but also more tense than when he’d nearly become the alternate timeline Bucky. 

In all honesty, Len had been avoiding him as much because he wasn’t sure how to handle this weird mixed version of the man, as because he didn’t want James to know about Len’s serum. 

“Hey,” James greeted him, the normal gruffness still missing from his voice. “What’re you doin’ hiding in here? Been looking all over for you.”

"Sorry. It’s been a rough couple of days.” Had it really only been a few days since they landed in 1944? “Had a lot to process. Are you actually James yet? Or should I still be calling you Bucky?"

James gave him a wry smile, more amusement than he usually allowed himself to show, but with an edge of darkness that the younger Bucky hadn't possessed. It was a confusing mixture of the two. "It's James."

Perhaps seeing Len's disbelief, he shrugged and came to a stop next to Len, staring out at the shifting ‘sky’. "There's still a lot of memories of who I would have been. They're fading, though. It's like watching a movie in my head, now, instead of something I actually lived through."

"Guess it's a good thing you're used to dealing with fragmented and disordered memories," Len said dryly, and was startled when James laughed.

"Yeah, guess so. Who'd've thought I'd be grateful for that, huh?" James shook his head. "Gideon says the new stuff, from the moment of the changed timeline onward, will disappear any time now.”

“I’m sorry for that.” Len slid an arm around James’ waist, and was gratified when the other man hugged him back without hesitation. “I know it frustrates you that you’re still missing so much.”

“Thing is, right now I’m _not_.” James looked pensive. “The alternate timeline version of me was never broken by HYDRA, and that means I never lost anything in the first place. At least for the moment, I fully remember all of my life before my capture, which is why I seem like I’m not James." 

His tone turned to one of wonder. "I have sisters, Len. Baby sisters. God, I miss them. No wonder I got attached to Lisa so fast. They're probably all dead now, but they woulda had husbands, kids. I've got great-great-nieces and nephews out there somewhere."

Now _that_ was a strange thought. It was easy to forget that James was literally a hundred years old, though he'd actively lived through only thirty or so of those years. Bucky had mentioned his sisters to Len, and he’d been planning to tell James about them. But he hadn't quite thought that through to the conclusion that those siblings would have continued their lives without their big brother.

Len tried to picture forgetting about Lisa, utterly and completely, and then suddenly having it all returned… only to know he would lose it again at any moment. Even the thought of it made his chest feel tight. "Will you lose those memories, too?"

"Yeah, unfortunately. Technically they’re the alternate me’s memories, not mine. But I'm writing down everything I can, to try to jog my brain with later." James sighed. “In a weird way, I’m kinda glad. I don’t feel like _me_ , right now. I feel like him, and I chose _not_ to be him.” 

He turned to Len, and the sorrow in his eyes was, surprisingly, eclipsed by something much brighter. "There's one thing I _know_ I've gotta do now, though. I need to tell you something, while I still remember. It’s why I’ve been looking for you."

"Oh?" Len tried not to be paranoid, but that tight feeling in his chest had intensified, accompanied by a sinking feeling in his gut. Bucky had made no mention of being interested in men, even when he'd found out that Len was. James' alternate timeline self had been clearly attracted to Sara, but hadn't given Len a second glance.

Or possibly even worse, what if remembering who he really was meant James had realized he didn’t _want_ to be a Rogue? That he wanted to go join the Avengers like the hero he always should have been?

If James said now that he wasn’t interested in men after all, or couldn’t stand the idea of being a criminal any longer, what the _fuck_ was Len going to do?

"Quit it," James ordered him, a note of fondness ruining the sharp tone of the command. When Len blinked at him in confusion, James chuckled and reached up to cup Len's face, running his thumbs along the curve of Len's stubbled jaw. "Quit fucking overthinking everything, you idiot. I'm not leaving you. I chose to go through seventy years of hell in order to be with you. What more proof do you need?"

"Then what?" Len demanded, hands coming up to grip James' wrists. He wasn't sure if he'd intended to pull the hands away, or make sure James couldn't let go. "What is it you need to say that you won't remember?"

"I love you, Leonard Snart."

The words hit him with the force of an atom bomb, exploding in Len's chest in a fiery blast that pushed all the air out of him. He couldn't seem to pull in more, floundering in a sea of shock and disbelief, amazement and awe. Too stunned to think, he blurted out the first thing that came into his head. "You _what_?"

The question made James laugh again, and the exasperated affection in his eyes shone bright enough to light the room. "I love you. I've loved you for... fuck, forever, it feels like. I just didn't know what I was feeling, what it meant, how to put it into words. I didn't understand what love _was_. Quoting the dictionary definition isn't _knowing_. But you taught me. You gave that back to me. I might forget again, I don't know. Either way, I want _you_ to know that I love you, even if I lose the words."

"I..." Nothing else came out. Swallowing, Len tried again. This time he couldn't even manage the first word. He was overwhelmed with emotion, hated himself for the weakness of the feeling, but also clung to it with the desperate strength of a drowning man. He knew what he _should_ say, what James fucking well deserved to hear. He even knew that he would mean it, when he said it.

But the goddamn words wouldn't come, trapped behind a lifetime of beatings for daring to express his feelings. Punishments for being soft, weak, emotional 'like a woman'. Through the persona of Captain Cold, Len had regained a great deal of his ability to tease and laugh and release pieces of that caged inner child, but not this.

Then James stole his ability to say anything at all, pressing their mouths together in a fierce, heated kiss. "It's all right," James murmured against his lips. "Len, it's all right. You don't have to say it. Fuck, you already did, when you begged me to stay. I _know_ , okay? I know. Actions speak louder than words, anyway."

Len had always believed that to be true. And yet, those three simple words had such a profound fucking impact on him, it blew him away. "You deserve more."

"Says the guy willing to stick with a man who barely remembers what romance is, let alone how to properly court a fella." James pulled back a few inches, his smile sly. "I've left myself all kinds of notes. I'll be finding them in weird places for months. I might not be sure why I'm supposed to do those things, but I'll follow the instructions. Prepare to be wooed."

Breathless all over again, Len drew him in for another hot kiss. Hands wandered, and when they broke apart again, they were pressed together from hips to chests, hands on each other's asses and holding tight. "You are something else, James Barnes," Len murmured, his voice husky with far more than mere desire. "You realize you're never getting rid of me now?"

"I'm counting on it. Hell, if I thought you'd say yes, I'd ask you to marry me," James told him, grinning again when Len stared at him in further shock. "Still can't believe fellas are allowed to do that in the future, but damn, I would. I love you. Sick of hearing it, yet?"

"Never." Len clenched his hands, squeezing the taut flesh, urging James ever closer so they could rub their cocks together. The barrier of their pants was frustrating beyond belief, and Len wished _he_ had the strength to simply tear through them. "Fuck me, James. Claim me, make me yours. I want you inside me, damn it."

There was nothing he'd ever wanted more in his life. 

To his utter frustration, James shook his head. "Nope." Those blue eyes sparkled with wicked mischief. "We fuck all the time. This once, I'm gonna make love to you."

He dropped to his knees, sliding out of Len's grasp, not that Len tried very hard to hang on to him. Not when James' lush mouth was trailing down Len's chest, over his stomach, finally teasing at the rigid shaft that tented his fly in a painful way. Len ground his teeth against a shout and rocked his hips up, pressing into the moist warmth of James' breath, which he swore he could feel even through the heavy layers of cotton.

Leaving his left hand to press against Len's hips, pinning him solidly to the wall, James brought his right hand down to cup Len's balls, molding and squeezing through his jeans. With his knees, he nudged Len's feet into a wider stance, opening the other man to better receive his attention.

"Goddamnit, James." Tangling his hands in his lover's hair, Len tried to force him closer. Failing that, he attempted to buck his hips, but that solid metal arm wasn't budging, and therefore neither was Len. "We're not even skin to skin and I'm going to fucking embarrass myself."

James huffed a soft laugh, the extra burst of air making Len groan. "If I tear your pants off here, you're gonna have a drafty walk back through the whole ship to get another pair," he pointed out.

"Might be worth it," Len muttered, making James laugh again. Len was coming to enjoy that sound, made a resolution that he would do his best to draw it out of James again later, even after the ghost of might-have-been Bucky faded.

Instead of tearing, however, James undid the fly one-handed, and eased the zipper down. When he pulled Len's cock free of jeans and boxers, the heated length of it bobbed heavy and solid, twitching with the stimulation.

James wasted no time getting to work, diving in to suck the head into his mouth, tongue seeking and finding sensitive flesh beneath the foreskin. With his right hand he fisted the shaft, pumping with a slow, tight grip that drove Len half insane in moments. 

Then there was the sucking, teasing touch of his mouth, licks and even light nibbles on the glans making Len moan and shiver. "Shit, James. I'm serious about embarrassing myself, and you know I won't be able to get it up again anywhere near as fast as you."

"We'll see about that. Let go, Len." James murmured against his shaft. "I'll catch you."

Then he swallowed Len whole, sucking him deep and hard, and Len lost any hope of holding out. He came with a harsh, almost startled shout, hips bucking wildly against the unmoving grip of iron, shudders of pleasure rolling through his body that were so intense, they threatened to shatter him. 

James milked him of every drop, easing off the pressure of his sucking and switching to licking instead, laving the too-sensitive flesh just slow and light enough to keep it from being painful. Panting for air, Len slumped against the wall, now grateful for the arm across his hips keeping him up. 

"You're awfully good at that," he commented, breathless and husky. "Did the other you have some male-on-male adventures after all?"

Finally James pulled back, looking up at Len with a cocky smile. "Nah. This is all stuff I've learned from you. I'm just applying it a little different, is all." 

"So I was your first man?" Len didn't really want to know, and yet he couldn't stop himself from asking.

"What if you are?" James snorted, standing and gathering Len into his arms. "The fact that you're the one who made me realize I could love a man only means you're that goddamn special to me. My first and only."

Fuck if _that_ didn't stab another arrow right throw Len's heart, the kind that made a rush of pleasant warmth spread through his chest - and over his cheeks, but he couldn't bring himself to care about the blush. He was too giddy, like a fucking schoolgirl with a crush. Hell, Lisa had all but called him as much, back when he was first obsessing over James.

Finally convinced, right down to his soul, Len forced himself to throw aside that worry and simply embrace the reality before him. Not to mention, embrace James, arms around his lover's neck and pressed close for another long, sucking kiss.

Strong hands tugged at the sides of his jeans, and Len's pants and boxers fell to tangle around his feet. Impatient, Len kicked one leg free without bothering to take his boots off, then hooked that leg around James' hip, expecting his lover to lift him up.

Instead, James back away slightly, breaking the kiss to tug at Len's shoulder and urge him to turn around. "Face the wall," he ordered.

"What, you don't wanna see my face?" Len made the words a teasing quip, but the truth was that he was disappointed at the thought.

"Gotta got you ready, first." James slid his metal hand down, chilled to the point of frost, curving over Len's ass and toying with his crack.

Len grunted, acknowledging that was probably wise. James was big enough to stretch him hard, and while Len had gotten used to regular poundings, it still felt better when they were prepared. Thankfully, since they'd been known to bang like bunnies at any opportunity, he'd taken to always carrying supplies with him.

Faintly amused, he wondered what HYDRA had thought of that when they searched him. "I've got lube in my..."

A sharp bite at the base of his neck cut him off with a yelp. James chuckled. "I know where it is. Hush, now. Actions, not words, remember? The only thing I wanna hear from you is moans. Maybe a little screaming."

"I don't... scream..." Len forced out, more pleased than he could say at the return of an old joke between them. James _had_ made him scream, on several occasions. But his lover delighted in the challenge of Len refusing to admit it.

Then James dropped to his knees again, forcing Len's feet even wider this time, and cupping the globes of his ass in both hands. When he spread them apart, Len realized what his lover intended, and all the air rushed out of him. "James..."

"You clean?" James asked, though the way he was already leaning in to lick along the base of Len's spine suggested the answer might not make a difference.

"Yes." Len had showered after they'd returned, scrubbing himself extra thoroughly everywhere, trying to be rid of the stink of HYDRA. Now he was incredibly grateful, because if James was planning what Len thought he was...

James continued to lick a long stripe down Len's tailbone, then further, until his tongue found the tight pucker of Len's ass. He teased at first, circling the clenched flesh, barely brushing him. Then the tip of his tongue pushed in, squeezing past the muscle, licking at far more intimate places.

Gasping, Len clutched at the wall like he was trying to drive his fingers into it, overwhelmed by sensation. It was such a dirty, filthy act in all the right ways, the very taboo nature of it making it even more intimate. He'd never indulged in it, from either side of the equation, though he'd certainly heard stories from people who had. 

The penetration left him feeling open and vulnerable, the way his ass cheeks were spread exposing him to the whole damn room. When James pulled back momentarily, Len could feel the cool caress of air over the wet pucker, where air was never meant to touch. It made James' tongue feel even hotter when he pushed back in, deeper this time, as hard and far as he could go.

Then his cool metal fingers slipped further down, cupping and fondling Len's balls. The chill raised goosebumps over the sensitive flesh, made his balls try to retreat up toward his body for warmth, but James rolled them in his fingers and tormented them gently. Without thinking about it Len spread his legs further, encouraging that chilly touch, and more penetration.

Len's cock twitched, and he realized with astonishment that he was stiffening again, recovering faster than he had in a decade or more. He was still too sensitized, the new stimulation creating waves of the most painful ecstasy he'd ever experienced. He shuddered, knees threatening to buckle, and swore when James had to release his balls in order to brace Len's hips again.

"More," Len begged, not even caring that he was doing so, knowing that James would never use it against him. Never hurt him or manipulate him, never turn on him or betray him. Because James fucking loved him.

Lisa's mother had told him that she loved him, but when push came to literal shove, she hadn't risked herself to save her own baby, let alone the child of another woman. Lewis had said it back at the beginning of his descent into abuse, when he'd still sometimes sobered up enough to feel guilt about the bruises he'd left on his children. A few of Len’s flings had dared to make the claim, confusing pleasure for emotion, as if one night of hot sex could ever mean anything deeper. 

And with Lisa and Mick, they'd never said the words at all, both of them just as wary of the lie so often contained in the term 'love'.

When James said he loved Len, however, he _meant_ it in the truest, deepest sense of the word. His was a selfless emotion, not a selfish one. He could never hurt Len, because to do so was to hurt himself.

Knowing that freed Len in a way he'd never experienced, a depth of trust so great that he could let go of everything and give himself over completely. "I need you inside me," he pleaded. "All of you. Please."

"Fuck, when you ask like that, how the hell can I say no?" James gave one last lick, then rose to his feet, pressing his chest to Len's back. It squeezed Len between the wall and his lover's solid body, yet the last thing he felt was trapped.

"You saying I can lead you around by the dick?" Len teased him, panting for air that didn't seem to be there. 

"In bed? Hell, yes." James nipped at his spine, at the base of his neck, his body warm and solid and enveloping Len. "Beg me like that and I'll do damn near anything you want, sweetheart."

The endearment made Len snort with amusement, but also tickled something deep inside. "We're not in bed," he pointed out, grinning.

"You complaining?" James finally pulled away enough to turn Len around, catching him by the ass and hefting him up.

"Hell, no." Len wrapped his legs around James' waist, rocking their groins together, hissing at the feel of the rough denim against his over-sensitive cock. He was about half hard, still rising, and every touch felt like it was bordering on too much.

Reaching down between them, he fumbled James' fly open and pulled that glorious cock out, humming in pleasure as he fisted the length of it. James must have grabbed the lube at some point, because when his flesh hand snaked down beneath Len's ass, his fingers were slick with it. He pressed two fingers in, the tight ring of flesh already stretched from his tongue, and Len hissed with pleasure as he rocked onto the intrusion.

"Just do it," Len insisted, no longer begging so much as ordering.

"Pushy," James retorted, smirk flirting with the idea of turning into a grin. "Impatient, too. Good thing I love making you fall apart so much." Pulling his fingers free, he slicked more lube over his cock, then hefted Len higher to line him up.

Winding his arms around James' neck, Len kissed him deeply and fiercely, soaking in as much of the other man's taste and scent and feel as he could. Coming within inches of losing James forever had brought his need for this man into sharp relief, and Len had to convince himself that disaster had been averted.

The hot, thick length of James' cock pushing into him, stretching the flesh in a pleasant burn as it went, was a pretty convincing bit of proof. Hissing against James' mouth, Len clung tighter and forced himself down, groaning as his lover claimed him thoroughly.

James was doing some moaning of his own, rocking his hips in short, sharp thrusts to ease himself in further. His hands were clenched on Len's ass, a titillating contrast of inhuman warmth and impossible cold. Those hands could do just about anything to him, and Len knew he'd beg for more.

When he was fully in, they both paused for a moment, panting for air and wallowing in sensation. Len leaned back against the wall, tipping his head up in an invitation that James gleefully accepted. James licked and nipped his way along the column of Len's neck, slow sucking kisses that would surely leave their mark behind.

Len never minded wearing proof of James' touch, but at the moment he was damn near willing to get one of the kiss bruises tattooed into permanence. 

Then James started moving. He started slow, gentle rocking that was hardly enough for Len to feel, but built rapidly to a powerful crescendo. In minutes he was pounding Len into the wall, each thrust rocking Len up higher, driving the breath out of him over and over until it felt like he might suffocate on sheer pleasure.

"More," he demanded, not caring that it was already more than he could handle. He wanted it _all_ , every piece of this incredible man who'd proclaimed himself to be Len's. "Damn it, James. _More_."

Somehow, impossibly, James obeyed. Pleasure crashed over Len in a crushing wave, and the world whited out for a moment as the second orgasm hit him hard.

Through it all, James never let go, his body sheltering and enveloping Len like a physical expression of his love.

When he regained awareness of the world, Len found James slumped against him, breathing steady but fast, his cock pulsing the last few drops of seed deep inside Len. Groaning, Len kissed him again, savouring every second.

In some ways, these moments afterward were even better than the sex itself, though Len would never admit it. How had he, a man who had utterly disdained anything that might be considered 'post sex cuddling', come to crave the touch of this man? It was like a drug, more highly addictive than any chemical a lab could produce. He could spend all day right here, and be happy.

So, of course, that was when the door slid open and Raymond came in, already talking. "Hey guys, Rip wants everyone on the br-OH CRAP, uh, sorry! Didn't see you there!" Turning bright tomato red, Ray spun and put a hand over his eyes, as if blocking his view after the fact would help. "I mean, I literally didn't see you, really, I swear. Please don't kill me."

The low, dangerous growl James gave in response was much more like the sounds Len expected from his lover. When he glanced down, he saw James giving Ray his best 'psychotic assassin glare', which was sadly wasted on the man since his back was turned. "Get the fuck out, Palmer."

"Seriously, you've got _two_ rooms to choose from, why are you always in the public ones?" Ray complained. "Never mind, don't answer that. At least stop threatening to commit murder when one of us walks in on you!"

"He hasn't even done that," Len pointed out in a 'reasonable' tone that carried a clear edge of danger. He was beyond pissed to have their pleasant moment shattered so rudely. "But I'm about to, if you don't do as he said and get. The. Fuck. Out."

"I'm going, I'm going!" Ray suited actions to words, feeling his way back toward the door, apparently too afraid to even look forward. "But for real, Rip wants everyone on the bridge."

"We heard you," James snarled. " _Out_."

Finally Ray was gone, leaving them alone in the observation room once more. Sighing, Len rested his forehead against James', giving him a rueful smile. "Can't even get five minutes alone. You're sounding more like yourself."

"Yeah." The darkness in James' eyes was likewise familiar, alternate-Bucky's more cheerful demeanor sliding away piece by painful piece. There was something uncertain in James' expression, a frantic edge that Len had never seen before. "Do you regret it?" he blurted out, as if nervous. "That I'm not more like him. Now that you know what I should've been like."

Understanding dawned, and Len stared at him. "Do I regret that you're not more like Bucky? The righteous goody-goody who wouldn't give a criminal like me a second glance? A man who would probably never consider fucking me, let alone pound me into the wall so thoroughly, I'll be feeling it tomorrow?"

James blinked, caught off guard. "I..."

But Len wasn't done. "I've known plenty of handsome charmers. It's almost a qualification for a con artist. Hell, I can be one myself, when I put my mind to it. Granted, Bucky's actually sincere about his charm, and maybe once upon a time I'd have seduced him for a night, just to see if I could. But that's all it would have been. A night. That's all it _ever_ was, all I ever allowed it to be." 

He clenched one hand in James' long hair, and ran the thumb of his other hand along that strong, straight jawline. "Until you. _You_ , James, are the only one who's ever been different. That I've ever come back to. That I ever wanted to stay with me."

Blowing out a hard breath, James closed his eyes and rested his forehead against Len's, his body relaxing and expression sliding into a genuine smile. A James-style smile, small and self-contained like he still half expected a handler to get mad at him for showing it, but all the more meaningful for its rarity. "And you think you don't know how to tell me that you love me."

It was true, Len realized, stunned. That _was_ basically what he'd just said, though he'd danced around the word itself. Damn it, if he could say _that_ , why couldn't he give James the gift of the one damn word that mattered?

Try as he might, it wouldn't come out. But Len realized there was one action he could take that would absolutely scream louder than any words could. "You know, you could always try asking. I might surprise you and say yes."

With an adorable frown of confusion, James opened his eyes and cocked his head. "Asking about wh..." Realization dawned, and Len had the pleasure of seeing his lover absolutely thunderstruck. For a long moment all James could do was gape at him. "Are you serious? You’d say yes if I proposed?"

“Well, you’re gonna have to ask and find out, aren’t you?” Len countered, heart thundering in his chest. 

A slow, delighted smile spread over his lover's face. “Guess I’d better write myself one hell of a note. And leave it in multiple places, so I’ll definitely find it soon.”

Having expected James to blurt out the question then and there, Len was rather taken aback. "You sure you want to wait, and give me a chance to get cold feet?"

"I'm damn sure I'm gonna manage a better moment for it than standing here half naked in a public room," James retorted. "For one thing, I want plenty of time after you say 'yes' to taste every inch of your skin as a reward. For another..." He hesitated, then finished softly, "For another, I want to be completely _myself_ when I ask. So you know it’s really coming from me, not the ghost of who I was or could have been."

Sighing, Len shook his head, bemused. "How the hell is the man with the worst social skills I've ever met also the sweetest, most romantic fucker I've ever known? You're going to spoil me, you know."

"Every day for the rest of our lives, if I have any say about it," James promised him. 

Len kissed him to seal the deal, and decided he didn't give a crap about whether Rip was waiting for them. This moment was between him and James.

Maybe, by the time James got around to asking, Len would be able to give him the _right_ answer. Not just 'yes'.

'I love you. Yes.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget, you need to be subscribed to the SERIES, not just this story, in order to be notified when new stories are posted. We're not done with these two yet!


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